Symphony For Quartet
by Tinn Tam
Summary: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs present -- much against their will -- the years of harmony. Before one of them made them all fall in a jarring note.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: ****The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black**

The sky was slowly going pale blue and the streetlamps had already been put out. The small, miserable square could barely be seen by the dull light of dawn, and the neglected buildings that rose all around it looked dark and somehow sinister. The postman was standing on the pavement in front of number ten, yawning and cursing the chilly breeze. It wasn't enough that he should find himself in a place he didn't like at all — Grimmauld Place always gave him the creeps, for some reason — but to add to his misery, it _had_ to be freezing. Call this a job, getting up so damn early when everybody else was fast asleep, enjoying their holiday…

The postman suddenly shivered and decided to start now, so he would be through more quickly. There was definitely something wrong about this place, and he wasn't thinking about the dirty walls and the bins and rubbish that scattered the pavement. Something was not right. The sooner he would leave, the better, really.

Okay, number ten… Only three letters for number ten. He stuffed them unceremoniously through the letter box. He usually took his time to read the addresses, because he hoped to find some funny, or foreign-sounding names; it was his own way to spice up his dull errands. Then he would try picturing Mrs. Sprouty or Mr Papadopoulos – that one was actually _Greek_. He had never seen a single Greek in his whole life.

But not today. Today he would hurry. When he thought about his wife and sons, warm and safe in their beds…

Number eleven… number twelve… Only one letter for number twelve. For Miss Adelaide Pingsty.

He raised his head and found that he had gone too far; from number eleven he had walked straight to number thirteen. That was curious, as he had only taken a few steps from one door to the other. He turned and walked a short way, but stopped dead: he hadn't gone too far, after all, number eleven and number thirteen were only at a few steps' distance. Actually there was no number twelve between them.

He looked down at the letter again. The address was clear: _Miss Adelaide Pingsty, 12, Grimmauld Place, London. _He looked into his bag to see whether there were other letters for Miss Pingsty in Grimmauld Place.

There it was. There were two bills and one parcel for Miss Pingsty, 21, Grimmauld Place, London. Just a mistake then.

But as he passed to number thirteen, he slowed down and stared at the two buildings, which stood firmly next to each other. There was no room even for a straw between number eleven and number thirteen, let alone an entire house.

It was just _not_ normal. There should be a number twelve. It was insane.

The postman shivered again, though it was not so cold now, as the sun was finally rising and cast a golden light on the top of the tallest buildings. He delivered with trembling hands the letters for number thirteen, then hurried to number fourteen. Now he was really eager to leave the place.

The postman was bent over the letter box outside number sixteen, when an owl suddenly flew out of a dark, narrow street and into Grimmauld Place. It soared straight to numbers eleven and thirteen, apparently heading for the drainpipe that was the limit between the two buildings. Just before crashing into it, however, it abruptly disappeared as if an invisible hand had snatched it out of the air.

"Sit up straight," Mrs. Black snapped.

Her eldest son Sirius grudgingly straightened a little in his chair, putting as he did so both elbows on the wooden table of the underground kitchen. His mother glared at him and he regretfully withdrew his elbows from the table.

To his left, his nine-year-old brother Regulus had jumped at his mother's command before hastily sitting up as straight and stiff as a broomstick, not even daring to lean against the back of his chair. And of course _he_ had not put his elbows on the table.

Sirius resisted the temptation to roll his eyes with extreme difficulty. His mother's order was directed to him, of course, not to beloved Regulus; yet the little git, as usual, had made obvious he obeyed much better and quicker than his older brother. Probably just to show what a better son he was. As if anybody needed reminding, when each and every one of the inhabitants of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, from his mother to the house-elf Kreacher, never missed an opportunity to point out the differences between good, loving Regulus and cheeky, restless and stubborn Sirius.

An owl suddenly entered the kitchen in a great flurry of tawny feathers and dropped the letter it was carrying in front of Sirius. It went as quickly as it had come, without pausing for a gulp of water, as owls usually did. Clearly, the letter was an official one. Sirius' heart leapt. He had been waiting for it so eagerly, ever since he had celebrated his eleventh birthday. He made to grab the letter, but his mother beat him to it. Sirius felt a burning anger rising in his chest; how _dare _she read his mail?

He forced himself to calm down. He knew he could not control his anger; if he didn't stifle it immediately he would start shouting — and if Regulus was stupid enough to open his arrogant little mouth, he would probably not resist the urge to make him shut up with a good hard blow. This was what had happened the last time he had lost his temper, and the experience had been nasty enough for him not to want to relive it.

Looking completely unaware of Sirius' inner struggle, Mrs Black ripped open the letter and read it in silence, before announcing, "Hogwarts. The usual: school begins on September the first, train leaves at eleven at King's Cross, Platform nine and three quarters. That's three weeks from now, a bit late to send those letters, don't you think?" she added, talking to her husband. "Maybe that Muggle-lover, Dumbledore, is losing his grip after all."

"I don't think so," Sirius' father said in a bored voice. "He's had some trouble this year to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I don't know exactly what happened to the last one, but there have been some rumours about it at the Ministry…"

Sirius' father was rather keen on reminding everyone how influent he was at the Ministry of Magic, and indeed he was often to be seen there, talking with important Ministry wizards — including the Minister herself.

"Well, that doesn't leave us much time," Sirius' mother abruptly said, "but we can't afford not to give a little party for Sirius' beginning at Hogwarts. He is, after all, the heir of the Black family."

As she said those words, she seemed to glower with pride. Sirius scowled and put his hands in his pockets, looking mournfully at his unfinished toast. He was not really hungry anymore. His going to Hogwarts was easily the best piece of news he had heard in years, because it meant that he would finally get away from this place; yet he hated the idea of being introduced to a whole lot of nice, pure-blood families, whose children would be asked to become his friends and probably to keep an eye on him at school. Help him become a "true Black", as his mother would say.

In fact, Mrs. Black was already making a list of families to invite, and every name she uttered was familiar to him as belonging to the most ancient pure-blood wizarding families in the country.

"Of course, your brother Marcus is to come, along with his daughters. Well, at least, Bellatrix and Narcissa… Narcissa is beginning at Hogwarts, too, and I think Bellatrix is starting her fourth year. I'm not letting Andromeda in this house, though, did you hear she started hanging around with a… a Muggle-born? Merlin, a Black with a Muggle-born… I wonder how Marcus can bear the mere idea…"

Great. Now Andromeda was not coming. The only decent person in that family wasn't allowed here anymore. That was just _great._

"The Malfoys… Maybe the Macmillans, too, though _she_'s so dull… Well, that's hardly surprising, I've heard she used to be in Hufflepuff. The Notts…"

"What about the Potters?" his father said.

Sirius turned to look at him, a frown on his face. His saying anything was rather startling as he still looked deeply bored with the subject, but what surprised Sirius most was that "Potter" was not a name he was familiar with. He racked his brains, wondering if his father had ever mentioned them before — he probably had, he spent all meals dropping names here and there…

"The Potters?" his mother repeated, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "But… I mean, all right, they're pure-blood, but they're a Gryffindor lot. Margaret's family has been in Gryffindor for centuries, and so has her husband's. And they're at least ten years older than us."

_Ugh_, Sirius thought. His own parents were not exactly young themselves; those Potters were probably old enough to be his grandparents. Why on earth did his father want to invite them?

"They've got a son who's starting Hogwarts this year, too," replied his father in his usual bored voice. "Griselda Marshbank told me about him yesterday, she's an old friend of the Potters'. I've been told that he's a polite, well-bred boy, who is used to seeing pure-blood wizards and knows perfectly well how to behave in society. Exactly what Sirius needs, in fact."

Sirius' mother didn't seem much tempted by the idea. Obviously a "Gryffindor lot" was almost as bad as a Muggle-lover to her.

"Narcissa's his age, she could…"

"Narcissa and he don't get along well, you know that. From what Marcus told me, Narcissa already has her own circle of friends, and they're all girls older than her."

Sirius' father took a sip of tea, evidently thinking the matter was settled, but then, spotting the still unconvinced look on his wife's face, he said in a stern voice, "There is not a single boy the age of Sirius in all the families you've decided to invite. Better for him to have friends his own age, rather than older students. You know him, he hates being treated like a child, he will do his best to contradict any advice coming from his cousins."

As usual, they were talking as if he was not in the room.

Sirius was beginning to feel rather confused about his father. He was undoubtedly as narrow-minded as his mother about the so-called purity of blood, but until now he had never given him the impression of knowing what sort of boys Sirius and Regulus were, what they liked and who they listened to. He was beyond such matters. He actually looked rather bored whenever the conversation dwelled on the Black boys' upbringing.

Come to think of it, he was not wrong. A boy his age would be quite a nice change after suffering for years endless sermons from his older cousins. Besides, he had never met a Gryffindor before; that could be interesting, given that his mother worshipped the house of Slytherin, where all the Blacks had gone for centuries. And Gryffindors had always been Slytherins' natural enemies.

On the other hand, his father's description was anything but tempting. He didn't need another Regulus, thank you very much.

"How pure-blood are they?" his mother finally asked.

"You can't find a purest blood," his father said serenely. "Their family is as ancient as ours. And they're quite wealthy, by the way. Most of their money is inherited, of course."

This seemed to convince Sirius' mother.

"Fine. I'll set the party here in two weeks."

"Can I have my letter now, please?" Sirius asked. He wanted to read himself the letter that was finally setting him free.

His mother looked at him as if she had just realised he was there.

Then her reply came.

"Get your hands out of your pockets and sit up straight."

* * *

"Let's have a look at you."

James Potter obediently stood up, and his mother observed him for a minute or so, frowning slightly. The boy had spent the summer flying on his broomstick from dawn to sunset, and was more tanned than an Indian. That was lucky, because he was so skinny he usually looked rather unhealthy, and Margaret Potter strongly suspected her friends to think he was under fed. The biggest problem was of course his hair; whatever spell she would try on it, it simply wouldn't lie flat, and as a result James often lacked the elegance expected from a boy of his social class.

Not that the Potters cared much about purity of blood; they knew they were not very far from being considered as "blood traitors", as they had never really scorned half-bloods the way most pure-bloods did. But even if they didn't share their peers' opinion about pure-blood supremacy, they were rather keen on keeping their rank among wizards, as their own parents had always done.

Margaret Potter didn't understand why she was dreading so much the Blacks' party; after all, they had no cause to be envious of the Blacks, and James would know how to behave. He knew his part well. For a few months now, she had been receiving invitations for her and James from those of her friends who had children his age. Most of these parties had been quite enjoyable, but one or two had really been a torture; some of the guests had not stopped claiming — so loudly she was pretty sure the children in the next room had heard every single word — that the country was going to the dogs, merely because a half-blood had become Head of the Department of Mysteries. _Can you believe that, Margaret? A filthy-blood keeping the most treasured mysteries of wizardkind? What an outrage!_

It was unwise to upset those people, because most of them were very well-connected and powerful. That was why James had to know what to say and how to behave in front of them. They would be capable of endangering his future career if, as a boy, they had heard him say something that disturbed them.

"It's some sort of game," she had told him. "Those people play a part whenever they meet." He had to understand this part was not reality; she didn't want him to become like these women's children, who were so snobbish they hardly looked like kids anymore. It was a relief to come back home after acting the respectable, pure-blood family for a few hours, and to have a laugh imitating all those "pure-blood monkeys", as James and his father called them. She tried to keep James away from those parties, as she felt it was not good for him to make him play that sort of part too often, but sometimes she simply didn't have a choice.

Today was one of those times. They were supposed to meet young Sirius Black, who was going to Hogwarts this year, which meant he would almost certainly end up in Slytherin; as for James, he was likely to go to Gryffindor, like everyone in his family. Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't get along well, and Margaret wondered how they were going to handle a long afternoon with an all-Slytherin crowd that would keep raving about purity of blood.

"Now, you may find the Blacks' son arrogant and scornful, but don't lose your temper," she told James. "It's just for an afternoon, it will be over quickly."

"After all," her husband added as he entered the living-room where they had been waiting for him, "the boy will go to Slytherin, which mean you just have to be polite with him until the Sorting. After that, you are entirely free to hit him with whatever curse comes to your mind. It's an old tradition between Slytherin and Gryffindor." The two of them laughed, and Margaret joined them in spite of herself.

"Well, let's not keep the pure-blood monkeys waiting any longer," Robert Potter finally said. Then he took a pinch of Floo Powder from a bowl on the mantelpiece and threw it in the fire, which turned emerald-green. Stepping into the flames, he shouted, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London!" and disappeared.

Margaret licked her thumb and tried one last time to smooth down a lock of hair that stuck up to the back of James' neck.

"You _know_ it's not going to lie flat," James pointed out.

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," she said, smiling. "Now, go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

James gave her a grimace that plainly said he wasn't more thrilled than she was by the perspective of an afternoon at the Blacks', but he walked up to the fireplace nonetheless, where the green flames were still burning.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London!"

The flames leapt up to envelop him, hiding him from Mrs. Potter's sight.

* * *

James spun in the fire, eyes tightly shut and elbows stuck to his flanks, for several nauseating seconds. As he felt himself slowing down at last, he instinctively outstretched his hands in front of him — but as it turned out, he shouldn't have bothered. Instead of tumbling gracelessly on the floor as it usually happened, he landed smoothly on a fine hearthrug, as if invisible hands had guided him out of the fireplace. Opening his eyes, he stepped away from the fireplace to let his mother come out of it. As he did so he noticed a silver object on the elaborated mantelpiece: a thin cylinder, from which erupted two sort of silver claws gripping the mantelpiece. He recognized an Out-Chimney, which explained at least why he had come out so smoothly instead of landing face down on the floor. It was, to his knowledge, a very rare instrument; even his parents didn't have one.

He was in a small, empty hallway, merely furnished with the large marble fireplace and a few paintings on the walls. A golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling cast a warm light that made the rich frames of the paintings glimmer. This was probably a secondary hallway for visitors travelling by Floo Powder.

"May I take your cloak, young sir?" croaked a voice from somewhere near the ground. James jumped and looked down, to see a house-elf with a rather snout-like nose, a snow-white tablecloth tied around his hips, his hands outstretched expectantly.

He nodded, unfastened his cloak from his shoulders and gave it to the house-elf. The creature disappeared at once with a loud popping noise.

James was beginning to wonder why his mother hadn't arrived yet. He didn't want to go alone out of the hallway and into a house he suspected to be very big, given the Blacks' famed wealth. As he stood there, uncertain about whether he should go and join his father or wait where he was for his mother's arrival, the door facing the fireplace abruptly opened.

A woman stood there in the doorway, looking forbidding in her formal black dress, her fingers glittering with expensive rings. She wasn't wearing any other jewel. She must have been a little younger than James' parents, as her hair was still dark, occasionally streaked with grey, and her face was not yet wrinkled. She considered him for a few seconds, an eyebrow raised in surprise, and James suddenly realised he was not supposed to stare back.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she didn't smile. She moved into the room, leaving the door open.

"Good afternoon," she answered coolly. "You must be James Potter."

"Yes ma'am." The woman surveyed him imperiously for what felt like ages. James felt stupid, but he couldn't think of anything else to say; she was much too intimidating. He wished his mother would arrive, to get him out of that embarrassing situation.

"Well, James Potter, I'm Sirius Black's mother," the woman finally said.

She moved nearer and held out her hand, watching him closely as if she was testing his reactions. James took her hand in his own and bent slightly over it — he didn't need to bend very low, as she was so much taller than he was — feeling like a complete idiot, as he always did when he had to do that. Yet Mrs Black looked satisfied and her voice was a little warmer when she spoke to him again.

"Your father is in the drawing room, and I was wondering whether you had got lost in the Floo Hallway."

James felt himself going red.

"Sorry ma'am," he said hastily, "but I was waiting for my mother. She was just behind me, but—"

"I think your mother is old enough to know how to use Floo Powder, James. She will join us in a few minutes." Her amused smile made James feel even more embarrassed. He smiled back hastily, squirming a little under her gaze.

Mrs. Black walked back to the door, then turned and looked enquiringly at him. James nodded and hurried forwards.

She led him out of the secondary hall and through a pair of long curtains, masking the door, into a much bigger hallway. The front door was on his right, and another smaller door was facing it at the other end of the hallway. As he watched it, the house-elf that had taken his cloak came out of it, carrying a heavily loaded tray. They followed the house-elf up a flight of stairs and into the drawing room on the first floor.

It was a long and high-ceilinged room, packed with witches and wizards chatting in groups of three or four. There seemed to be mostly adults, which James found very surprising given that this was supposed to be a party for eleven-year-old Sirius' beginnings at Hogwarts. He caught a glimpse of his father, in deep conversation with a Ministry wizard called, he was pretty sure, Rookwood. He tried to catch his eye, but Mrs. Black pushed him firmly towards a group of youngsters who were gathered in a corner.

"Here, they are your future classmates, maybe you'd like to meet them… Now I'll leave you here, all right?" He thought she must have been rather eager to be rid of him, though nothing in her expression or in her voice suggested it. He thanked her, then walked uncertainly towards the teenagers. They all looked at least fourteen or fifteen.

As he moved closer, a tall boy with long and sleek blonde hair looked down and met his eye. James experienced a wonderful wave of relief; he knew that boy, he was Lucius Malfoy, a distant relative of his. Usually he would not have been so happy to see him, as Lucius never missed an opportunity to make him feel like an ignorant kid. But it was good to see a familiar face in that crowd of strangers.

"Why — James! James Potter, proud defender of the Gryffindor cause! What a surprise, I didn't expect you to come here… That place is packed with Slytherins! Don't you feel a bit lost? Where are your parents?"

James had to make an effort not to scowl. Lucius was a sixth-year Slytherin, and he was used to teasing James about his family's belonging to Gryffindor. Of course James never felt more like a fool than when he tried to argue back, and was silenced by Lucius' contemptuous looks. Actually the only field where he easily surpassed Lucius was flying. As a result, he usually coped with Lucius' occasional presence by compelling himself to think about Lucius' anger at being left behind at Quidditch by an eleven-year-old. It worked quite well.

At Lucius' last question, that James had chosen to ignore, the other teenagers sniggered and looked around.

"You're in Gryffindor?" asked what seemed to be the youngest of the lot, a girl with long blonde hair. "I'd never have said you were already at Hogwarts, you look even younger than me, and I'm starting this year."

Well, James would never have guessed, either. She was thin and a bit taller than he was — though, admittedly, that was not difficult as himself was small for his age — she could easily be thirteen, at least.

"I thought there were no pure-bloods in Gryffindor," she said indifferently. "You're a pure-blood, aren't you?" she added with a frowning.

Lucius smirked.

"Come on, Narcissa, do you really think your dear Aunt Walburga would let a half-blood in this house?"

The others laughed again. Lucius looked like some sort of leader they were all following.

"James is not yet in Gryffindor," Lucius went on. "He's starting this year, too."

"Then he might not go in Gryffindor," another girl said.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I _will_ end up in Gryffindor," James interrupted, speaking for the first time. "My whole family's been there. Are you all in Slytherin?"

They nodded, still watching him curiously. James was growing tired of being stared at as if he was a circus animal.

"Okay," he said, breathing deeply. "You all know my name, and since the only person I know here is Lucius—"

"That's right, we are failing to every rule of politeness," said Lucius, cutting across him with that indulgent smile James hated so much. "Here are Bellatrix and Narcissa Black, whose cousin Sirius is starting at Hogwarts too, and we've got Petrus Nott—" A skinny boy with light-brown hair nodded, "—Anthony Goyle and George Crabbe—" Two boys the size of gorillas looked round when Lucius said their names, "and Eleanor Tackhild."

The latter was a plump girl with glasses and the thickest hair James had ever seen; it was plaited in a braid as thick as James' arm, but seemed to threaten to burst free any minute. She merely scowled when Lucius said her name and looked away.

Now that he had been told everything he needed to know, nobody looked interested in him any more. The Black sisters resumed their chatting with Lucius and Nott, Crabbe and Goyle gazed into space, and Eleanor Tackhild just sat on the window-ledge with her arms and legs crossed, looking furious at everyone.

James turned away with a shrug and walked towards a huge tapestry he had noticed earlier, which showed a family tree. At least he could read it until he would be asked to meet that Sirius Black.

The tapestry turned out to be quite interesting. The Black family was indeed one of the most ancient wizarding families, and seemed very proud of it. The tapestry was labelled _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_, which was followed by what James guessed was the family motto: "Toujours pur". The Blacks were related to almost every pure-blood he had ever heard of, the exceptions being his and Lucius Malfoy's families. The most curious things about the tapestry, however, were the small black holes here and there, where there should have been a name. It looked as if the names had been blasted off the family tree.

He spotted Narcissa's and Bellatrix' names, on either side of a third name, Andromeda. The third Black sister was around eighteen, according to the date of birth, and he thought it was strange she had not been invited. Then he spotted Orion Black's name, linked to Walburga Black's by a golden line. Apparently Mr. Black had married his own cousin. They had two sons, Sirius, who was born a few months before himself, and Regulus, who was two years younger.

"Welcome in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," a voice drawled just behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Of the diplomatic virtues of a flying broomstick  
**

It was even worse than Sirius had expected: his mother had had him greet every single guest, even if he didn't know half of them. The worst part of it had been the arrival of his two cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa, respectively fourteen and eleven, that had expressed their hopes to see him in Slytherin. He hated the disdainful look on Bellatrix' face – she must have had heard about his lack of enthusiasm about becoming a Slytherin. He would have dearly loved to answer he would be ready to go in Gryffindor just to avoid seeing too much of them, but his mother was close by and he knew she would have skinned him alive for uttering such a blasphemy.

After greeting Mr Potter, who indeed looked really old, he braced himself for the imminent arrival of "James-Regulus" Potter. But the boy wasn't coming. His mother finally told him to wait for her, and hurried downstairs.

He didn't wait for her. The later he would see of his future nice pure-blood classmate, the better. He retreated at the furthest end of the room, towards the wall where the Black family tree tapestry was hanging.

He sat there on the floor, and stared mournfully at the all-pure-blood crowd that filled the drawing-room. He was sick of them, he was suffocating in this atmosphere. He hated that house, filled with reminders of the nobility of his family. It was really time for him to leave. It would be so great to be with kids his age, who wouldn't have heard of the Noble Black family, who wouldn't ask him every few minutes to act as a "true Black"…

Wait a minute, what was he thinking at? He was to be sorted into Slytherin, where he would join all the snobbish idiots he was supposed to have as role-models… Even Hogwarts would not rescue him then…

His mother suddenly re-entered the room, followed by a boy his age dressed in formal black robes. Sirius hid behind the curtains hanging around a nearby window, hoping against hope his mother wouldn't have the idea of looking for him. Unfortunately, that seemed to be exactly what she had planned to do next: leaving the Potter boy, she started going from one guest to another, probably asking whether they had seen him.

Looking away from her, he saw that the Potter boy was talking to his cousins and their friends. They were obviously getting along well. Oh, his father had been right, that was exactly what he needed: another smug git, obsessed by his lineage.

The boy turned away from the group pretty quickly, however, and to Sirius' horror walked straight towards him. Sirius retreated further behind the curtain, and was relieved to see that Potter had stopped to admire the tapestry showing the Black family tree.

His relief was only temporary. A hand suddenly grabbed his ear and forced him out of his hiding place. Wincing, he looked up in his mother's face. He had never seen her so furious.

"Would you be kind enough to explain why you're lurking behind the curtain, sitting in the dust?" she hissed. "Are you three? I told you to wait for me, you're supposed to greet James Potter, it's for you we invited him…"

"You shouldn't have bothered," snarled Sirius.

His mother looked as if nothing in the world could have pleased her more than giving him a good slap in the face.

"I'll deal with you tonight," she said in a threatening voice. "Now go and talk to the boy. Right now."

He had no choice. Freeing himself of his mother's grip, he headed for Potter, who was still gazing at the family tree. What on earth could be so interesting about that moth-eaten tapestry, Sirius wondered. The boy was so absorbed he didn't even look up when Sirius reached him. Sirius hesitated for a few seconds – what was he supposed to say? Then, throwing to the winds all ideas of friendly behaviour, he shot at him:

"Welcome in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black".

The boy turned on his heels and grinned at the sight of him. The idiot was actually grinning. Did he think Sirius had just paid him a compliment?

"Hi," he said. "I'm James Potter. And you must be Sirius Black."

Sirius nodded. Potter's voice was not as unpleasant as he expected, it had not the scornful tone he had heard so often – when Lucius Malfoy had talked to him, for instance.

The two boys stared at each other for a good minute.

"We really should talk, you know," said Potter suddenly . "Your mother looks as if she's going to kill one of us."

Sirius' eyes widened. He had been expecting anything but that. Potter was looking at something behind him with a worried expression on his face; more than worried, actually – scared, more like. His mother was probably livid with rage – he knew how terrifying the sight was. He didn't dare to look around.

"Yeah… Right… Let's talk then."

He tried to find a good subject, but he was at a complete loss of words. The idea of his mother glaring at him, her wand in her hand, was clouding his mind and preventing him from thinking properly. He found himself thinking instead about how great it would be to fly today in their back yard. He had never got a chance to fly for hours at a time, as he would have liked – the Blacks thought that, if he was to know how to fly, he was not to get involved in some silly game like Quidditch. Not worthy of him. Blacks were beyond such ridiculous competitions…

Potter's voice sounded very distant when he spoke again.

"So… Starting Hogwarts this year, are you?"

Sirius blinked. Even he could not have found a duller subject.

"I know," Potter hastily went on. "But the most important thing is that she sees us talking, no matter if we're discussing the weather or acting the pure-blood monk– "

He stopped dead and turned a deep shade of red.

"Acting the pure-blood what?"

"Never mind," mumbled Potter, still very red. "Just… something with my father – "

"Pure-blood monks?" repeated Sirius mercilessly, very interested in knowing what could make this boy so uneasy.

"Drop it – it's stupid, it's just –". Potter was scarlet now.

"C'mon, tell me, what d'you think, that I'll go and tell my mummy?"

James stared. It was not what he had expected either. Black looked really different from the smug teenagers he had just spoken to; he looked – angry. That was the word he had been looking for: everything in Sirius Black, from the gleam of his grey eyes to the way he was nervously biting his lip, suggested a boiling anger about to burst its boundaries. No other pure-blood gave such an impression: anger was too much a sane, violent, improper feeling for those cold and haughty people.

"You're not pleased to see me, right?" James said abruptly.

Sirius didn't even look embarrassed. Really he was completely out of place here.

"Not only you," he said casually, "I'm sick of all those gits." He gestured towards the guests.

"Thanks," said James, his eyebrows raised, but grinning in spite of himself.

"Well," said Sirius, grinning too for the very first time, "you do look a bit more interesting. I expected you to spit out something stupid about how a pure-blood is greater than any other wizard, or God knows what rubbish… And if my mother heard me say that, I'm dead," he added in a light tone, as an afterthought.

At least he was brave. If Sirius' mother had been looking at James the way she was currently looking at her son, he would probably have killed himself before she had a chance to catch him alive.

"Funny you should say that," he said, "I would've thought you were proud of your family. You know, with the family tree, and all…"

"Yeah, the family tree," said Sirius, shrugging. "It's only a matter of time I get blasted off it, anyway. God, I would be ready to do anything as long as it has a chance to upset my lovely pure-blood family. Even to go in Gryffindor, and that's saying something."

"Why, what's wrong with Gryffindor?" asked James, frowning slightly – he was quite touchy about Gryffindor, maybe because of Lucius Malfoy's endless taunts.

Sirius goggled at him.

"Are you kidding? Gryffindor – who would want to end up there? Except – "

He stopped. He had forgotten James' family was a Gryffindor lot, and he had been close to say something really rude. He wouldn't have minded ten minutes ago, but now he had talked with James he didn't want him to think he was a complete jerk. He was the first boy which whom he had been able to talk for more than a few minutes without wanting to commit murder, after all.

"Go on," said James, grinning again at Sirius' embarrassment. "What did your parents tell you? That Gryffindors were pitiful show-offs or something?"

"Well…not exactly… It's rather, you know, fools that are happy to die young as soon as they can shout poetry about courage and honour and stuff like that, just before their opponent kill them."

James burst out laughing.

"Your turn," shot Sirius. "Why did you say we were acting the pure-blood monks?"

"Not monks," choked James, still laughing, "monkeys. That sort of people that keep boasting around about their lineage…"

"Like my family does, you mean."

James felt himself go red again. What a fool. Couldn't he keep his mouth shut for two seconds put together?

"That's okay," said Sirius. "I actually like that. I should have thought about it a long time ago. Pure-blood monkeys…" he laughed softly. "So I guessed you would have been quite happy to avoid this charming little party?" he asked with a sarcastic smile.

James shrugged. Whatever Sirius had said, he was determined not to open his mouth again.

"So would I," muttered Sirius, even if James had not said a word. "It would be so great to fly today… I didn't even mount my broomstick all summer."

"Really?" said James, who was so shocked by this idea he forgot his resolution of keeping quiet. "D'you have a place to go for flying?"

"The back yard. Perfect for Quidditch practice. If someone bother to get there." He really looked completely depressed by this idea.

James looked around. Sirius' mother was talking with a group of Ministry wizards, his parents were chatting animatedly with Griselda Marshbank in a distant corner, the teenagers he had talked to earlier were all being bored in front of the window. Nobody was paying them attention.

"We could go," he said matter-of-factly.

Sirius' eyes widened.

"Go? To the back yard, you mean?"

"Yes," said James confidently . "Nobody will notice us. We could fly for an hour or so, then come back as if nothing had happened. The afternoon won't be completely wasted."

He had thought that maybe Sirius would be uneasy at the idea of leaving the party to play Quidditch when he wasn't allowed to, but on the contrary his face broke into a huge smile.

"Great! Do you have your broom?"

"No," realised James. He hadn't thought of that.

"No matter," said Sirius firmly. "We'll nick my brother's. It's quite good."

"But what if your brother notice?"

"We'll lock him in a cupboard, it will take ages to find him, there are about a thousand cupboards in that house." The idea seemed to delight him.

James smiled too, feeling suddenly excited.

"Let's go then!"

They sneaked out of the drawing room and up a flight of stairs. Sirius opened the door of a perfectly clean and tidy bedroom.

"My room," he said. "It's usually much more welcoming, but Kreacher the house-elf cleaned it this morning. I hate when he does that – I can't live in that sort of place, it's just too clean."

He opened a cupboard and started rummaging inside, throwing things over his shoulder as he did so. He finally straightened up, holding a brand new broomstick, which looked as if it was seldom used.

"At least the welcome problem is solved," said James, nodding towards the mess Sirius had created in the middle of the room.

"Yeah, much better," agreed Sirius very seriously, casually knocking over a neat pile of books that crashed on the floor and spread everywhere. "Now, Regulus' room."

"Is your brother sick of all this pure-blood thing as well?" asked James as he followed Sirius in a corridor.

"Regulus?" Sirius snorted. "He loves that stuff. He worships my mother so much he would never dare to think a word that could upset her. Right," he added, opening another door. "I don't know where he's hiding it, but it shouldn't be too difficult to find… Look under the bed, I'll do the cupboard…"

They started searching the room. James tried at first to put things back where he had found them, but as Sirius didn't bother and kept reminding him that time was running out, he quickly gave up. Soon the place was incredibly messy, books and clothes scattering the floor. Sirius had even pulled the sheets off the bed, but still they couldn't find the broomstick.

"He hid it very well," said Sirius, disgruntled. "What about cornering him and torturing him until – "

The door opened. A small boy, who looked like an insipid version of Sirius, stood horrified in the doorway.

"Excellent," said Sirius brightly . "Regulus, we were just about to ask you whether you would lend James your broomstick."

The boy looked outraged now, and James couldn't honestly blame him.

"You've messed up my room!" he screamed in a high-pitched voice.

"Don't scream," said hurriedly James. "It's just… we didn't know where to find you, and we need your broom, okay? We'll put everything right, don't worry. Just don't tell the others – you may go with us!" he added suddenly, ignoring the threatening look on Sirius' face. "Come on, Regulus, can you lend me your broom? We could take it in turn…"

Regulus was looking at James with a disgusted expression.

"You filthy blood-traitor," he spat.

Next thing James knew, he had punched the little boy who ran out of the room, screaming at the top of his lungs. Sirius ran after him, caught up with him and took him back to his room, dragging him carelessly by the ankle.

"Right," he panted, forcing his brother to look at James. "Now apologize."

"Drop it, never mind," said James. He was shaking with anger, but he felt also slightly ashamed of hitting a nine-year-old.

"Suit you," said Sirius, shrugging. "You don't have to apologize, you little rat, but I'd really like to know where your broom is. Otherwise I'll be very angry at you."

"I don't care, I'll tell mum!" shrieked Regulus. "I'll tell mum and you'll be punished! And you'll never find my broom, it's well hidden, he will never let you have it!"

"What were you saying about locking him in a cupboard?" shouted James over Regulus' screams.

They found the perfect cupboard on the third floor, full of fur coats. Before slamming the door shut, Sirius threw a teddy bear in his brother's face.

"Here you go – I chose the one who's singing so you're not feeling alone. Bye, little bro! This way," he told James, climbing the stairs two steps at a time.

"We still don't know where his broom is," James pointed out, wondering where Sirius was leading him.

"Oh yes, we do," replied Sirius. "Or at least, I've got a good idea. Remember when he said 'he will never let you have it'? I think he was talking about the ghoul in the attic. Our parents don't know about it, they never go up there. Well, I went there when I was seven and the ghoul jumped up my throat. Fortunately I had candy in my pocket and it ate it all and then it fell asleep. So when I came back there, I brought it sweets and I hid Bellatrix' Chocolate Frog cards in its nest while it was eating. Then the ghoul lay down on the cards and fell asleep, and Bellatrix never found her cards. Oh, she was furious," he said in a satisfied voice. "Anyway, Regulus must have found out about the sweet thing… Here we are."

Sirius stopped on the very last step, which led directly to an old and neglected door. They were just under the roof. Kneeling, Sirius put his hand into a hole in the skirting board, and pulled out a dirty little bag. He took one or two Muggle sweets out of it.

"Nicked them from a Muggle boy," he said with a grin. "They're quite good, you know. Shame I couldn't get more. But of course my mum freaked out when she saw me so close to a Muggle. She made me have the longest bath of my life after that." He rolled his eyes. "Okay… the door…"

But the door was locked and there was no key. Sirius swore.

"Regulus must've taken the key to his bedroom, the filthy little – "

"No matter," said James.

He pulled a knife out of his pocket, slid the blade into the crack around the door and moved it up and down. The lock gave a loud clicking noise and the door opened.

"Mischief managed," said cheerfully James, pleased to see Sirius looked impressed.

Regulus' broomstick was indeed in the ghoul's nest, carefully wrapped in an old towel. They had just the time to grab it before the ghoul collapsed on its nest and started snoring loudly.

They finally found themselves in Sirius' bedroom, both holding a broom.

"We're going into the yard through my window," decided Sirius. "There's no other way, I bet you anything the door's locked and that my dear mum is wearing the key around her neck."

And so they made a ladder out of Sirius' sheets and went through the window and out in the back yard.

Sirius had been right: it was a great place for Quidditch practice. What must have been at first a sad, grey and small yard surrounded by high walls had been magically transformed into a little garden covered in smooth grass, lined with neat flower bushes that left a significant space for practice. The walls of the houses surrounding it were transparent, letting in the warm light of the summer sun. There was one fifty-feet-high hoop at each end of the yard.

They took off immediately. James couldn't resist the temptation of showing-off; he sped towards the other end of the yard before taking a very sharp turn, then flew straight to Sirius and avoided collision at the very last second.

"Good one!" exclaimed Sirius. "Now what about actually playing?"

He showed James the old ordinary ball he had picked up from the ground.

"Okay, I play Chaser, you're keeping the goal, and we're switching as soon as I've scored."

James was without doubt the best flyer, but Sirius turned out to be quite good, too. True, he never got past James, but he nearly knocked him off his broom twice by throwing the old ball in his face.

"You should think about becoming a Beater," James shouted after dodging a third ferociously-thrown ball.

"I'd love to," shouted back Sirius, catching the ball James had just tossed him. "But I don't think first-years are allowed in the school teams."

"No, they're not. Too bad, I would have loved beating Malfoy at Quidditch in front of the whole school. He's playing Chaser for Slytherin."

"You know that Malfoy? I saw you talking to him."

"Yeah, he's something like my third or fourth cousin or I don't know what. Slimy git."

"I thought so," said Sirius scornfully. "He must think he's soooo cool with his smug face and his long blonde hair. Ugh!"

Sirius aimed a shot at James, who blocked it and threw the ball back for another try.

"And I bet you anything," went on Sirius, "that Uncle Marcus and the Malfoys are already planning Bellatrix and Lucius' wedding. After all he's a nice pure-blood boy, and he's not even in her family already. That's quite rare now. Come to think of it," he added, throwing the ball so hard it soared straight between James' outstretched hands and hit him rather painfully in the stomach, "you're not in the family, either. You would make a great husband for Narcissa."

"Yeah right," gasped James, fighting to catch his breath as he remembered vividly the way blonde Narcissa Black had looked down upon him. "As if I wanted to marry such a snobbish – "

"If I were you, Potter, I would not finish that sentence," said a drawling voice from the ground.

James froze, his arm raised to shoot. Sirius, who was Keeping, didn't look down but closed his eyes as if he expected to be struck by lightning. James lowered his arm, took a deep breath and turned on his broom to look at Lucius Malfoy, who was smirking, his cold eyes fixed on the pair of them.

And it was not the worst part of it: James' parents were hurrying towards them, their faces white with shock, closely followed by Sirius' parents. Sirius' father looked merely surprised, but his mother was obviously furious. Regulus was crying loudly behind her. A little crowd of wizards were gathering now around Lucius, staring up at them.

Mrs Black opened her mouth and James braced himself for the explosion.

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

Sirius finally opened his eyes and turned to look at her.

"Hi, Mum," he only said.

His mother raised her wand. Her spell hit Sirius who was irresistibly attracted towards the ground, where he landed rather harshly. James landed next to him seconds later. Both boys straightened up and looked up into their parents' faces.

ooooooo

"I'm so sorry, Lenora, I would never have thought James would – he's a very quiet boy usually…"

A very quiet boy? That was news to James.

"It was lovely, really. We'd better go now."

"Why on earth did you need to go flying?" whispered his father as his mother was saying goodbye to a still-outraged Mrs Black in the Floo Hallway. "I told you just to be polite, not to compel yourself to befriend him."

"He's all right," James whispered back. "He's a lot nicer than his cousins actually. You just need to get to know him."

His father looked at him with his eyebrows raised, then said:

"Well, at least you have demonstrated the unknown diplomatic virtues of Quidditch. I would never have guessed you could get along with that boy, he looked really sulky when I entered the drawing room."

James half-shrugged, then took a pinch of Floo Powder and stepped in the green flames. He was very glad to leave the Black house, but he was also looking forward to going to Hogwarts, where he would see Sirius Black again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Where another kind is discovered: not-so-pure-blood greasy monkeys  
**

Platform nine and three-quarters was packed with Hogwarts students, struggling with heavy trunks and overexcited cats and owls, hugging their parents, calling each other and trying to join their friends. James was having some trouble forcing his way through the crowd, as he was so light he was constantly in danger of being carried away by bigger students. He had given his parents the slip just after coming through the magical barrier in order to go looking for Sirius, but it was not very easy in such conditions. He was about to give up when a voice called his name. Before he had time to turn around, a hand came out of nowhere and grabbed his upper arm; next second he found himself dragged towards the wall lining the platform by no other than Lucius Malfoy.

"There you are, James," said Malfoy, his voice uncharacteristically amiable, while James was hurrying to keep up and kept banging into trunks and people. "I thought I would never find you. God, try to find someone _that_ small in such a crowd…"

"What do you want?" panted James, already annoyed. He was very conscious of his small height and he really didn't need reminding right now. What's more, Malfoy was gripping his arm so tightly he was actually hurting him.

"I want to introduce you to another first-year. A truly brilliant boy, amazingly gifted, really. You are yourself quite talented, you should get along well. And of course, I asked Bellatrix to try and find her cousin… He disappeared into the crowd as soon as his parents got him through the barrier. Quite reckless, but gifted, too, I've been told. But of course, you already know him." He gave James an amused look. "When I think the pair of you defied Lenora Black's authority… Really, you've earned yourself a lifetime enemy, James! And for _nothing_, as you and Sirius are bound to be at each other's throats for your whole time at school. Old rivalry between Gryffindor and –"

"I know, thanks," said James. He had given this subject a lot of thought since he had met Sirius, and he was not sure he really wanted to become a Gryffindor anymore, if that meant he would become Sirius' enemy.

"Here we are," said Malfoy at last, pushing James forward. They had finally got out of the crowd gathered around the Hogwarts Express, and they were facing a single boy leaning against the wall. James freed his bruised arm from Malfoy's grip and considered the boy. He was as small as himself, but he looked unhealthy with his pale face surrounded by a mane of greasy dark hair. James spotted the tattered trunk, closed by a long rope tied around it, and the second-hand wizard robes – which he was already wearing, contrary to James, who was still in his Muggle clothes.

James had never dealt with boys poorer than him, and he felt out of place in his brand new clothes. He wished the boy would stop staring at him in that calculating way, too. He wanted very much to ask "What the hell are you staring at?", but resisted the urge. He was not giving Malfoy the satisfaction of telling him off for his rudeness.

"James Potter," said Malfoy ceremoniously, "meets Severus Snape."

They said "Hello" in a most unconvinced way.

"Severus, James is the Potters' only son," explained Malfoy. "His family is one of the most ancient in Great Britain. I was just telling James that I had met you during the summer, and I had noticed your great ability. It's very important to make friends early with the right people, you know. You can both be very useful to each other."

Snape looked mildly impressed.

"I didn't know he was from an old pure-blood family," he said. "I'm very glad to meet him, then. Slytherin?"

"The most eager defender of Gryffindor house, I'm afraid," said Malfoy before James could open his mouth. "But it all comes from an old prejudice of his family's against Slytherin. I hope very much we see James in Slytherin, the Potter family is missed among our ranks."

James was growing irritated at hearing Malfoy speak about him as if he wasn't there.

"What does it matter?" he asked brutally. "If I'm pure-blood?"

Snape looked astonished. Clearly, purity of blood did matter a great deal, as far as he was concerned. _Another pure-blood monkey_, thought James. _And a greasy one, too_.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Come on, James, don't be so childish."

"Get a life," spat James. Malfoy's calmness was irritating him more than everything else.

Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow at him, his gaze suddenly much colder. However, his carefully controlled voice didn't reveal the slightest annoyance when he spoke again.

"Oh. Fine. I'll be going then, Severus. Besides, I have Prefect duties." He smoothed the Prefect's badge pinned to his chest, in an almost absent-minded gesture. "See you both at Hogwarts." He wheeled round and made his way to the Hogwarts express.

There was an uncomfortable pause. James wasn't very keen on staying with Snape; the boy was once more eyeing him, his lip curling as if what he was seeing wasn't at all at his taste. James was also aware he had looked a lot like a naughty kid, and he did feel like a fool. He shifted uneasily under Snape's cold staring, and decided to break the silence.

"Erm… listen… I should be going, too, I – I was trying to find somebody… Do I have a boil on the nose or something?"

Snape started at James' angry outburst. "No," he answered bluntly. "Why?"

"Because I don't really like being stared at like that!"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so aggressive, Potter?" he asked, his voice soft and infuriatingly calm. "I was merely _watching_."

James crossed his arms and gaped at Snape, his eyes widened to their fullest extent, imitating Snape's intense staring. He let his gaze trail upon the patched robes, greasy hair and pallid face, until Snape started fidgeting uncomfortably.

"What's the matter?" asked James in mock concern. "Don't you like me staring?"

Snape turned a quite nasty shade of pale violet but seemed at a loss of word. Having proved his point, James turned around. He had spent far too much time with Malfoy and Snape for his liking, and he still had to find Sirius.

Speaking of Sirius…

"Hey, James! James Potter!"

There he was, hold tightly by his cousin Bellatrix who was looking all around her, as if trying to find something – or somebody. She spotted James and Snape and headed for them, dragging Sirius along.

"Where is Lucius?" she asked imperiously.

"Gone," answered James, completely indifferent.

"Not to worry, Bella, he didn't get lost," said Sirius, twisting his head to smirk at his cousin. "He's probably licking your dad's boots or something."

Bellatrix flushed. "You –" She seemed to get a grip on herself and let go of Sirius' shoulder. "You stay here."

She turned and left. Sirius watched her going with a disgusted expression, massaging his shoulder. Then he grinned at James.

"Hi mate! I was looking for you, but Bella turned up and I had to follow her. Said she wanted me to meet somebody. If I'd known you were the somebody, I would have been less reluctant to come."

"'S'not me, as a matter of fact. It's him," said James, showing Snape with his thumb.

"My name's Severus Snape," said Snape quickly, ignoring James. "You must be Sirius Black."

"That's right," said Sirius. He took in Snape's shabby appearance, then asked in obvious bewilderment: "Why on earth would my cousin Bellatrix want me to meet _you_?"

Snape flushed. "I don't know your cousin, I met Lucius Malfoy. He said he wanted me to make friend with you and Potter, said we could… erm…"

""Be very useful to each other"," completed James, mimicking Malfoy's arrogant scowl. "Because all three of us are so _talented pure-bloods_ or something."

"That's right," agreed Snape, still not looking at James, but for some reason he didn't look at ease. "I… hum… I didn't meet much pure-bloods before and… well…"

Sirius and James were both staring at him, now. What was wrong with that boy?

"I – Lucius said that you didn't have a very good chance to get sorted in Slytherin if you weren't a pure-blood. Do you think that's true?" Snape asked in what he clearly hoped was a casual tone. "I'm asking that out of mere curiosity, of course," he hastily added, as Sirius lifted an eyebrow in surprise, "It's not as if – "

"As if you really wanted to know the answer," Sirius finished for him. "Or as if you weren't actually twisting your hands out of anxiety." He looked amused as Snape flushed and put his hands in his pockets.

"What's the matter?" asked James, smirking at Snape's embarrassment. "Why should you care if half-bloods can't be sorted in Slytherin? You can't be a… Wait a minute, are _you_ a half-blood?"

Snape went livid. "What makes you say that?" he blurted out. His tone was so aggressive that James thought he didn't need another answer. It was clear he had touched a nerve.

Sirius seemed to think along the same lines. "We wonder," he sneered. "C'mon, James, let's get on the train, we're wasting time here."

"Right. Goodbye then, Severus Snape," said James in the ceremonious tone Malfoy had used to introduce them. He thought he saw Snape's hand give a funny move towards his pocket, but next second he and Sirius had spotted James' parents and hurried to join them.

The Potters looked anxious (which made James feel slightly ashamed) and they informed Sirius his mother had grown tired of waiting for him and had gone; his cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa had taken his trunk to the train. James said goodbye to his parents and they both got on the train, where they started looking for Bellatrix' and Narcissa's compartment. Every compartment was packed with people chatting and eating sweets, some of them practising spells with their wands and sending sparks everywhere.

"Well, we have discovered another kind," declared Sirius as they peered through the panes of glass on the compartments doors. "Pure-blood monkeys who aren't even pure-bloods. Honestly, how thicker can you get?"

"You know, if he talked to Malfoy, that's not really surprising he's feeling ashamed of not being a pure-blood," James pointed out.

"Hey, are you actually defending him?" said Sirius, raising his eyebrows at him.

"No, I'm not," said James. "I hated the way he examined me like some kind of freak. I was just saying that Malfoy is a smug prat who's spending his spare time trying to convince everyone that half-bloods and Muggle-borns are better dead than alive. D'you think Snape can end up in Slytherin if he's half-blood?"

"I don't know," answered Sirius glumly, "And I'd rather we don't talk about the Sorting right now, if you don't mind. It'll happen soon enough. Here they are," he added suddenly, pointing at his cousins sitting among a small crowd in a compartment.

He opened the door.

"Hi, Bella, Narcissa," he said brightly as everyone looked up. "I'd like to have my things back. It was very kind of you to take care of them, by the way."

"No problem," said Bellatrix, her eyes narrowing as she noticed James. "Is that Potter?"

James nodded and mumbled a vague "Hello".

"Come and sit here, there's still room for two. Especially –" she considered James from head to toe with a sarcastic smirk, "– as I can see you're not too big."

The others laughed and James felt himself reddening. Nevertheless, Sirius and he sat down among Bellatrix' and Narcissa's friends. James pushed his trunk under a seat.

"So, how was your meeting with Lucius' protégé?" asked Bellatrix with an exasperating expression of patience, as if she was forcing herself to converse with kids such as James and Sirius, out of mere politeness. "You're a relative of Lucius', aren't you?"

"Yes… not close, though," answered James. He felt wary. Bellatrix had the same calculating look he had spotted on Snape's face earlier.

"As for your boyfriend's _protégé_, he looks like a right berk. Big surprise," said Sirius, crossing his hands behind his head and looking idly at the ceiling.

A threatening look flashed across Bellatrix' face, very fleetingly – not fleetingly enough for James not to notice, though. He was beginning to feel extremely nervous, and he quietly moved closer to the door. Sirius, on the contrary, looked perfectly at ease. Clearly, he was enjoying himself at provoking his cousin in front of her friends.

"When I see what sort of people you make friends with, I say it's a compliment to be considered as a berk," said Narcissa, who was nonchalantly leaning against the back of her seat and surveying James from behind her long eyelashes.

"When I see what sort of cousins he's got, I understand why he's trying to make friends with normal people," replied James coldly, all thoughts of prudence instantly forgotten.

""Normal people"?" repeated Narcissa, her eyes popping open as she glared at James. "What are "normal people", exactly?"

"People who speak normally, for a start. And not like that: "Noooormal peeeeople"," he whined in a high-pitched voice, imitating Narcissa's drawling accent. "Or who don't eat sweets as if they were at the Queen's table," he added, noticing the way she was delicately putting sweets into her mouth, as if it was crystal. Sirius laughed.

"Well, I don't think we should linger here," he announced, as James and Narcissa glared furiously at each other. "We'd better go and find another compartment." James gratefully got up. He had just seen one of the older boys open his mouth, undoubtedly to shoot at him an unpleasant retort, and he had heard enough about how small he was for one day.

"Bellatrix, could I have my trunk?" asked Sirius courteously, bowing slightly to his cousin (though the effect was somehow ruined by his smirk).

Bellatrix smiled sweetly back and pulled out her wand. "Certainly."

Sirius's heavy trunk abruptly soared towards them. James reflexively knocked Sirius out of the way, and they both fell heavily on several people's knees (including Narcissa's). The trunk hit the door so hard it opened it, then flew straight into two boys in the corridor, just outside the compartment, bursting open and spreading his contents everywhere.

Sirius and James were brutally pushed down the floor by those on top of which they had fallen. Even Sirius was able to sense danger coming now, as several students pulled out their wands. They quickly got out, helped by a couple of curses that pushed them right into the corridor, sending them crashing into the heap formed by the two victims of Sirius' trunk. James' trunk shot out of the compartment at last and landed on top of everything else.

There were a few minutes of total chaos, as the four of them struggled to disentangle themselves from the amount of robes, underwear, arms and legs. Finally James scrambled to his feet (it helped sometimes to be small and light) and, spotting Sirius' arm from under the mess, he tugged on it until he got his friend out. As he did so he caused the two other boys to collapse heavily on the ground, separated at last.

"Wow, what a mess," panted Sirius. "Can you believe such a simple curse could cause such mayhem? Bellatrix's more dangerous than I thought."

"Dangerous? Really?" James muttered bitterly, massaging his aching arm.

"You prat!" shouted one of the boys, getting to his feet. "If you hadn't got in my way with your trunk, it wouldn't have happened!"

"I'm sorry!" squeaked the other one, a chubby little boy with watery eyes, as the first boy seized his arm in fury and started to shake him very hard. "I didn't mean to – I just –"

"It's all right, no need to shout," said Sirius loudly. "It's my fault, I – er – flew my trunk out of the compartment and… well… Hey, will you let go of him, I just said it's _my fault_!"

He grabbed the first boy's arm and forced him to turn around. There was a shocked pause as James and Sirius recognised the greasy-haired boy they had talked to on the platform. His lip curled at the sight of them, and James remembered his anger when they had suggested he was not a pure-blood.

"Mind your own business," Snape snarled, his eyes flashing in fury.

"That's our business, if you're yelling in our ears," James shot at him. "Nobody deserves that." His dislike for this boy was growing every second.

"Yeah, be nice and shut up, Snape," said Sirius, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "And while you're at it, do as I say and _let go of him_."

"Or what?" said Snape coldly. "What if I don't?"

"Suit you," replied James. "If you want to fight the two of us, fine with me." He glanced sideways at Sirius, who was already rolling up his sleeves, watching Snape with a broad grin, his eyes gleaming with expectation as if nothing could have pleased him more than a ferocious fight in the corridor.

Snape smirked and drew out his wand.

"You fools," he said contemptuously, "I may not be a pure-blood but at least I can hold my wand steady. Where's your wand, Potter?"

James bit his lip hard in frustration. He had never used his wand, which was safe in his trunk. Snape seemed to have understood that; his smirk widened.

"I can hit you with a curse that would make the pair of you cry for your mummy," he sniggered. "Let's see if all your _money_ and your _purity of blood_ can save you from that…" Then he raised his wand.

"_Furunc_-"

James didn't even realise what he was doing. Two seconds later he and Sirius had hit Snape, who was now lying on the floor, whining and clutching his overlarge nose.

"Now _that'_s done," said Sirius, eyeing Snape with disgust and wiping his hand on his shirt.

James picked up the fallen wand and pocketed it.

"We should go," said the boy Snape had been bullying. He was looking at James and Sirius with an expression close to awe. "Or we'll be in trouble."

"Yeah, and we still have to find a compartment…"

Leaving Snape on the floor, James and Sirius started to gather Sirius' things back in his trunk, helped by the plump boy. Once all Sirius' things were safely back in his trunk, the three of them walked away without a backward glance. James heard Snape cursing furiously behind him and turned around.

"You're perhaps looking for that?" he called, showing the wand he had picked up. Snape went paper-white.

"Give it back to me!"

"Yeah right!" snorted James. "As if you weren't going to curse me in the back as soon as I've given it to you!"

"I won't. I swear."

James shrugged and caught up with the other two, who were looking for an empty compartment.

"POTTER! GIVE THAT BACK!"

"Oh yeah, the wand, I forgot –" He carefully aimed and threw the wand right in Snape's face. He heard a yelp of pain as he followed Sirius and the chubby boy.

ooooooo

Remus Lupin was alone in the very last compartment of the train. He liked it better that way. All those people were so excited about going to Hogwarts, they obviously couldn't wait for starting the classes and getting to know every single student in the school. Here they were, laughing and joking and eating…

He didn't want to hear their questions, their speculations about the Sorting, the classes and the teachers. He wasn't looking forward to it at all; if he had had any choice, he would have happily stayed with his parents for the rest of his life. They were the only people in the world with whom he had ever felt safe and cared for. But they wanted him to go to Hogwarts. Well, obviously, people like him had the greatest difficulties to find a job, so if he didn't even have a good education…

But how on earth was he going to handle living in a castle with hundreds of human beings he would endanger without even meaning it? Headmaster Dumbledore had talked about special "arrangements" for him…

Remus jumped as a group of boys paused at the door of his compartment, chatting and laughing merrily. He instinctively recoiled in his seat, wishing they would just go and leave him alone.

The door opened.

"Look, that one's empty!" called a boy with dark hair and glasses. "Well, almost empty," he corrected, grinning at Remus. "Do you mind if we sit here? We've just been ejected out of our compartment and everywhere else's full…"

Remus' heart sank. They've been ejected out of their compartment… They were probably trouble-makers that wouldn't leave him in peace for a minute. Yet he couldn't say no. He nodded.

"Excellent," the boy said cheerfully. "C'mon, Sirius, before the greasy monkey finds us and curses us into oblivion."

The two other boys behind him laughed and followed him inside. Remus sighed. He couldn't understand why they had to talk as if they were at the opposite ends of a Quidditch pitch, rather than at a few feet's distance. When they had finally settled (which took a long time, and far too much noise at Remus' taste), the bespectacled boy turned to face Remus, who promptly hid behind his book.

"Oh… hello Mister _A thousand herbs and magical fungi_!" he heard the boy say, not unkindly. "Do you have a shorter name?"

The others laughed again and Remus felt the colour rising to his cheeks. He mumbled "Remus Lupin" from behind his book.

"I didn't know I was _so ugly_ one would rather read a Potions book than look at me," said another voice in mock puzzlement.

"Because nobody ever dared tell you," answered the bespectacled boy's voice promptly. "Your mirror must've known you would shatter it, and it wisely shut up."

The third boy was laughing so hard he suddenly choked and began to cough.

"Hey, breathe!" said the bespectacled boy, sounding worried.

Remus lowered his book and saw one of the boys (the plump one), turning steadily purple as he coughed harder than ever. The boy with glasses started to thump him in the back, rather harder than necessary in Remus' opinion, but it proved helpful: the fat boy began to breathe again.

"You all right?" said the third boy, a tall dark-haired one. He was grinning, but he sounded concerned. "Very dangerous, laughing, you know. Almost as much as greasy-haired aggressive monkeys."

"I'm fine," panted the boy, still very red. "Glad to see your face, by the way," he added, grinning at Remus. Remus wished at once he hadn't lowered his book, but after all the three of them were looking at him without any disdain or wariness. He felt ashamed of being so rude to them.

"Oh… yes, sorry," he said at last. "It's just, you know, I'm not used to… well…"

"That's okay," said the boy with glasses. "We were just wondering whether you'd rather be left alone, or –"

"No," said Remus quickly; more quickly than he intended, actually. "I mean, I'm – I'm very glad to meet you, and, hum…"

"Maybe you'd like to hear our names," said the tallest boy helpfully. Remus nodded, feeling foolish. God, he hadn't even been able to utter two sentences.

"I'm Sirius Black," said the tall boy.

"James Potter," said the bespectacled one.

"Peter Pettigrew," said the chubby boy.

"Erm… Nice to meet you," said Remus awkwardly.

"Do you already know someone at Hogwarts?" asked Peter. "I didn't, until I met James and Sirius in the corridor. I was really anxious about going there without knowing anyone."

"Well, with the three of you, that makes four," answered Remus.

"Really? Who's the fourth?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper. He brought me my letter this summer."

"Did he?" said James, looking astounded. "How come? I got mine by owl post."

"Me too," said Sirius and Peter together. They were all goggling at him.

"Well – a problem with my registration – difficult to explain –" he was reddening again. He had to be careful with what he was saying.

"Okay, no questions – got it," said Sirius, good-naturedly. "How is he, that Hagrid?"

"Huge. Never seen someone that big," said Remus, relieved by Sirius' reaction. "Really kind, though."

"Quite the opposite of our own fourth acquaintance, then," said James. "We just met a disgusting guy in the corridor. First-year as well. That's him we were talking about, you know, the "aggressive greasy monkey". A filthy guy with greasy hair, he tried to curse us."

"Tried to?"

"Yeah, he couldn't finish his curse," said Sirius with a wicked grin. "He got a good punch on his oily big nose and he started snivelling on the floor. His name's something like… Thingy Snape. What's his first name again?"

"Something in "us"," answered James with a yawn. "Can't remember it right now. Greasus Snape?"

"No," said Sirius very seriously, as Peter started to howl with laughter again. "Begins with an "S"."

"Snivellus Snape?" suggested James with a broad grin.

"Here it is!" exclaimed Sirius, nodding appreciatively. The three of them burst out laughing, and even Remus had to smile.

"I think I saw him, too," said Remus suddenly, remembering something he had seen on the Platform. "There's a black-haired first-year that cursed a bigger student. He had been pushed out of the way, I think, and he hexed the guy in the back. The big student got covered in boils, I'm not sure he got rid of them yet. That's kind of scary, the Furunculus Spell is not to be learnt before third year at least."

"Probably the same, Snivellus himself," said Sirius. "I think we'd better learn how to block unfriendly spells quickly, because the punching thing might not work next time."

"Right. Besides, it _can_ be fun to cover him in boils. Here, have a Chocolate Frog, Remus," said James, tossing one at him.

Remus found it was really easy to talk to James, Sirius and Peter. He had the feeling he had known them for ages. He even found himself laughing his head off in a middle of a Chocolate Frogs fight, he, who valued peace and silence beyond almost anything. He thought it was the very first time in years he was truly having fun.

"Hey, I think I can see the castle!" exclaimed Peter suddenly.

"Where? Where?" shouted Sirius, James, and even Remus.

"I can't see it anymore, it's behind that big mountain. We'd better get changed."

The train slowed down and stopped. The platform was swarming with students in plain black robes. A gigantic silhouette was calling from the end of the platform: "Firs'-years, over 'ere…".

James, Sirius, Peter and Remus exchanged a look, then all four of them headed for the silhouette.

**All right, everyone, this is the last you'll hear from me in a long time. I've got a lot of work right now, so I'll see you in a few months. Rendez-vous May the 31st, when I'm done with my exams. So sorry about it...**


	4. Chapter 4

**All right, laugh at me, I haven't been able to last a week! Actually you're lucky I typed these chapters long before I had to stop writing for work's sake. I couldn't decently leave you like that. So I'll post Ch. 4,5,6 and 7 (all finished), one per week, so that you don't forget me by the time I'm done with my exams. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Where we begin to wonder about Remus' problem**

Hagrid scanned the group of scared-looking first-years timidly walking towards him; Remus Lupin's frail and lonely figure was nowhere to be seen among them, and it started to worry him. At last he spotted the boy: he was hurrying to catch up with the group of first-years.

Only he wasn't alone: running along with him were three other boys, and the four of them could be heard laughing and talking excitedly like old friends. There was something positively startling about this sight, especially when you had got to know Remus Lupin. When Hagrid had spent a few days in his parents' house over the summer, on Dumbledore's request, Remus had looked like an odd, sickly boy who wanted to be left alone.

Hagrid didn't know exactly what the boy's problem was; yet he guessed it was something important, as Headmaster Dumbledore had looked dead serious when he had asked him to keep an eye on him. But right now, Hagrid was pleased to see, Remus just looked like any other eleven-year-old.

"Oh, Remus. How are yeh doin'?" asked the bearded giant, smiling widely, when the four boys caught up.

"Fine," said Remus, grinning. "Really fine."

"Tha's good teh hear," said Hagrid, nodding to Remus' friends. Now he was close to them, he recognised one of the boys as Romulus Black's son. He wasn't sure he was too happy about it: the Blacks were wealthy pure-bloods and extremely proud of it. Not quite the kind of friends that would help Remus to handle his problem, whatever it was.

"Evening," said the Black boy with a smile. "Are you Hagrid?"

"Yeah, I am," the giant answered gruffly. "But no time fer a chat. We've gotta get teh the castle. We're coming by the lake. Enjoy the view. No more than four in the same boat."

He winked at Remus and led the first-years to the lake where the boats were waiting.

Remus, Sirius, James and Peter went in the same boat, which sailed away on the black lake without any assistance. They all gaped, open-mouthed, at the approaching castle.

"Wow," breathed Sirius. "It's worth the trip."

Remus privately agreed. He was beginning to think life would be really enjoyable in such a place, with James, Sirius and Peter for friends.

Or at least, as long as they ignored what he really was.

As this thought occurred it was as if he had been drenched in icy water. He shivered and dropped his gaze to the depths of the lake. He thought he saw something stir in the black water.

"I bet you anything there are aquatic monsters in there!" whispered James, literally jumping up and down on his seat in excitement. "My dad told me about a giant squid… The Forbidden Forest is full of dangerous creatures, too – how cool is that?"

_Well_, thought Remus bitterly, _that's only one more monster here, then_.

"Are you okay?" said Peter in his ear. "You look a bit funny."

He shook himself. "I'm fine," he said, forcing himself to smile. He glanced in Sirius and James' direction and saw they were busy staring at the castle, yet he could tell they had been watching him a second before.

They were greeted at the front doors by a severe-looking witch.

"Firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," announced Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid."

Professor McGonagall led them into the Entrance Hall, which was so big several students stopped dead and stayed rooted to the spot with their mouths open until Professor McGonagall had to call for them. They were led into a small room where they gathered, listening apprehensively to the chatting of hundreds of students who had already settled in the Great Hall.

"The Sorting will take place in the Great Hall in a few minutes," Professor McGonagall said briskly. "This ceremony takes place every year, in order to sort first-years into the four different houses of Hogwarts; the four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. You will learn more about each of them in a few moments. Now, please wait here quietly, until I come back."

Professor McGonagall went through a door into the Great Hall and they found themselves alone.

"Here we are," said James, breathing deeply. "The Sorting." He felt extremely nervous at the idea of being sorted in front of the whole school. Sirius was obviously feeling even worse: he was paper-white and when he spoke, it was in a hollow sort of voice.

"I'm seriously considering the idea of running away right now."

"Why?" said Peter curiously.

"I'll tell you _why_," answered Sirius through clenched teeth. "In about ten minutes I'm going to be sorted in Slytherin, along with my cousins I hate, and I'll rot there for the rest of my time at school."

"It would surprise me if you ended up in Slytherin," said Peter. "You're not quite the Slytherin type, are you?"

"D'you think whoever is sorting us into the houses is going to mind which type I am?" Sirius snapped acrimoniously. "They will see "Black" and send me straight to Slytherin."

"I'll go to Hufflepuff," said Peter in a consoling sort of voice. "Not any better, is it? Hufflepuff is the house for dunderheads. Or those who are easily bullied. Just like me. You, Remus?"

But Remus seemed lost in thoughts. Peter waved a hand before his face. "Hello? Planet Earth to Remus?"

Remus started. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Yeah, I just asked you if you knew which house you'll go in," said Peter, watching him curiously.

"Ravenclaw, I expect," said Remus, avoiding Peter's gaze. "It was my parents' house," he added as an explanation. "And my mum told me Ravenclaw was for people who couldn't get their noses out of their books."

"Just for you then, Mister _A thousand herbs and magical fungi_," teased Peter.

But Remus didn't smile at this, and Peter thought he had become oddly distant since their trip across the lake. He cleared his throat and asked quickly: "You, James?"

"I'll know soon enough," James answered shortly. He found the conversation depressing; it sounded as if each of the four of them was going to end up in a different house. He didn't see Sirius mouthing "Gryffindor" behind his back, as an answer to Peter's puzzled look.

The door opened at last and they followed Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall. As they walked past four long tables, each symbolising one house of Hogwarts, the students sitting all around them stared curiously. At the Slytherin table, Lucius Malfoy was surrounded by the teenagers James had seen at the Blacks' party. Malfoy smirked and waved nonchalantly when he met James' eye. James looked away and glanced sideways at Sirius; his fists were clenched, but he was walking with his head held high and looking in front of him.

The first-years finally gathered in front of the staff table, facing the other students. Professor McGonagall put an extremely old and dirty pointed hat on a stool in front of them. Everybody stared at it for a few minutes in an absolute silence, then a rip near the brim opened widely like a mouth and the Hat began to sing.

Sirius hardly heard what it was singing, though. He dreaded the Sorting so much his mind was clouded, and instead of listening he raised his head and stared at the ceiling. It was black, and sparkled with countless stars. It looked strangely peaceful.

"You just have to tell it you don't want to go to Slytherin!"

Sirius jumped. James had been watching him, looking concerned.

"It's just a dirty old Hat – tell it you won't go to Slytherin!"

"Tell it – what are you talking about?"

"Haven't you been listening? The Hat is sorting us into the different houses. You put it on your head – and that's it."

"How does it sort us?" asked Sirius desperately. "It's reading your mind or what?"

"Something like that," said James quickly – the Hat had stopped singing, and everybody was applauding. They didn't have much time left. "It sees which your main qualities are. If you're brave, you'll go to Gryffindor, if you're cunning and ambitious, you'll go to Slytherin, if you're loyal you'll be a Hufflepuff, and if you want to learn as much as you can –"

James stopped dead as Professor McGonagall glared at him.

"When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and I will put the Hat on your head," she said shortly. "Abrany, Carmen!"

"Oh no," whispered Sirius. "She's calling in alphabetical order. Why isn't my name Zultan or something?"

"It's going to be fine," James whispered back, as Carmen Abrany was sorted into Hufflepuff. "Don't let it send you in Slytherin."

"Black, Narcissa!"

The haughty blonde girl looked somehow less self-assured when she walked towards the stool. She sat on it and Professor McGonagall put the Hat on her head. It was far too big and it fell right down over her eyes. The rip opened again and the Hat shouted:

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Big surprise," moaned Sirius. "I'm going to kill myself."

"Black, Sirius!"

"Tell it!" James whispered urgently as Sirius staggered forward. "Tell it you don't want to go to Slytherin!"

Sirius nodded, incapable of uttering a word in reply. As he sat on the stool he distinctly heard an older student say to his friend: "Another Black. Another Slytherin…"

The Hat slipped before his eyes and everything went black.

"Another Black," said a little voice in his ear, echoing the older student's voice. "Is that another Slytherin?"

Sirius swallowed.

_I – I don't want to go to Slytherin, _he thought. _I won't let you put me in Slytherin. _

"You won't let me?" the voice sounded both surprised and amused. "Why do you mean, boy?"

_You're just a dirty old Hat_, Sirius thought furiously. _I won't let a dirty old hat put me in Slytherin. If you do, I won't rest 'til I've learned a curse that will set you on fire and silence you for good. _

He had not meant to say that; once more he hadn't been able to control his anger and his fear. It must have been the first time a first-year dared insult the almighty Sorting Hat, and he half-expected the Hat to start shouting for his immediate expulsion, but it merely chuckled. Then it started muttering things like "Recklessness… Ingenuity… Ooooh, not so much respect for rules…" Sirius waited for what felt like ages; his mouth had gone dry, and his brain numb. He had the feeling the Hat was playing with his nerves. Well, if that was the case, it was successful: Sirius was so tense he was sure that, if someone talked to him unexpectedly, he would jump about three feet and fall off the stool.

At last, a shout echoed in the Great Hall.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

No applause. Professor McGonagall didn't pull the Hat off his head. Sirius stayed where he was; it was not possible. He hadn't heard properly. Soon the Hat would say in his ear something like: "April Fool! You're in Slytherin!"

The Great Hall was absolutely silent. Then he heard someone running toward him, a hand lifted the Hat and James' beaming face appeared.

"Well? I was wondering whether you had got lost under that."

"You! Boy!" barked Professor McGonagall, pulling herself together. She must have been as surprised as Sirius himself by the Hat's decision. "What's your name?"

"James Potter, Professor."

"Get back in the queue, Potter. Right now! You, Black," she said, turning to Sirius, "go to the Gryffindor table."

At last the Gryffindors started applauding, and Sirius came to sit with them, still dumbfounded. At the other end of the Hall, many Slytherins were booing.

"Sirius Black?" asked another Gryffindor, looking at him with interest. "I thought your family were a Slytherin lot."

"They are," said Sirius in a hushed, puzzled voice. He discreetly pinched himself hard on the arm, just to check he wasn't dreaming. The sharp pain made him stifle a gasp, but at least it meant he was fully awake. "They'll be furious!" he murmured, more to himself than to the students surrounding him. A broad grin slowly crept across his face. Far from being worried at his parents' reaction, he felt euphoric. _He wasn't a Slytherin._

A few students surrounding him laughed at his obvious elation.

"Happy to have you with us," said a bold-looking girl, a few years older than him. "Anybody who's upsetting the Slytherins is welcome!"

She nodded towards the Slytherin table. Some of the students had stood up to have a better look at Sirius, Bellatrix looked disgusted and Narcissa shocked. Sirius beamed at them and waved cheerfully, causing more of his fellow Gryffindors to laugh. Admittedly, the Black sisters' faces were quite funny.

"Silence!" shouted Professor McGonagall, making with her wand a loud bang that quietened the Hall. After a last furious glance at the Slytherin table, which still looked mutinous, she resumed the Sorting.

"Bollurish, Anthony"…

Sirius couldn't stop grinning. He caught sight of James, who was squeezed in the queue between two students quite bigger than him, beaming and giving him the thumbs-up. Peter was smiling, too. Remus was looking at the ceiling, completely oblivious of everything else.

"Evans, Lily!"

A small girl with very short carrot-red hair, livid with fright, stepped out of the queue and sat on the stool. It took about two seconds for the Hat to make up its mind.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The girl walked to the table as Sirius and the other Gryffindors clapped, then sank on the bench next to Sirius and buried her face in her hands.

"You okay?" the bold-looking girl inquired kindly. "We're not that bad, you know!"

Lily Evans started and blushed very deeply. "I – I'm fine," she stammered. "I just – don't like being stared at…"

"Well, if you ever need anything, ask for me," the girl said. "I'm Katie Collins, and I'm a prefect. It's my job to help you."

Lily Evans mumbled "thanks", her gaze fixed on the golden plate in front of her; she looked so absorbed with it Katie Collins seemed to give up on her.

"Lupin, Remus!"

Remus was taken by surprise; Peter, who was next to him, gently pushed him in the back and he stumbled towards the stool. He had the feeling Professor McGonagall was looking at him more intently than she had done for the other first-years, but maybe it was just his imagination. Or did all the teachers know already…?

"Why are they all staring at him like that?" whispered Sirius. The teachers had indeed their eyes fixed on Remus, even those who had been in deep conversation a second before.

In the darkness of the Sorting Hat, Remus waited. "So?" said the little voice in his ear. "You don't have anything to tell me?"

Remus stiffened. He had found himself wishing he would go to Gryffindor, where Sirius already was and where James was bound to go. But he had made up his mind. He couldn't bear having them for friends and lying to them again and again, until they find out about him… and get away from him. It would be easier if he went to Ravenclaw, where he would have an excuse to stop hanging around with them.

_Whatever house I'll go in, I'll always be alone. So hurry up, I don't care where you're putting me. _

"How wrong you are," said the little voice. "There is a house where at least one of your friends is, and you know it. Why don't you ask me to go to that house? I'll see whether it suits you, according to your virtues. And believe me, you have quite a lot. But you need friends, Remus Lupin."

_I can't afford friends. They would let me down if they ever discover what I am. I'm better left alone. Put me in the most suitable house, no matter if the three of them end up in Gryffindor. _

"Gryffindor? Well, it _could_ suit you."

_Not the house with my friends. The house that suits me, me alone. Just me._

The rip near the brim of the Hat opened widely.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Remus closed his eyes. He had failed. The Hat had put him in Gryffindor because that was Sirius' house, there was no other reason. He wasn't brave. He had never been. He rose and walked slowly to the Gryffindor table.

"Can you move a bit to the left?" Sirius whispered to Lily Evans. "So that he can sit next to me?" She started again and nodded, sliding on the bench to leave a space between her and Sirius. Curiously, however, Remus didn't seem to take the hint and sat at the very end of the bench. Taken aback, Sirius tried to catch his eye, but Remus was resolutely staring at his plate. What was wrong with him? Half and hour before, he had been bombarding Sirius and Peter with Chocolate Frogs…

"Pettigrew, Peter!"

The Hat took its time; Sirius was getting impatient, and so were the students surrounding him.

"Oh, hurry up, you stupid piece of rag," groaned Katie Collins. "I could eat Dumbledore himself, with the beard and all!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the Hat at last. Peter stood up so eagerly he stumbled and nearly fell. Some students laughed, mainly Slytherins. Peter was a bright shade of magenta when he sat opposite Sirius.

"Potter, James!"

The Hat barely brushed James' head.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

James sprang to his feet, beaming, and ran towards the Gryffindor table.

"The four of us are Gryffindors!" he whispered as he sat between Sirius and Lily Evans. "Isn't it great?"

"I'm not sure Remus is so glad of it," said Peter timidly. "He's sitting by himself."

"Yeah, well, maybe he really wanted to go to Ravenclaw…" But James himself wasn't convinced. There was something really weird about Remus, and when he met Sirius' eye he knew Sirius was as intrigued as he was.

They didn't talk about it, though, because Professor McGonagall was watching them with a frown.

The Sorting went on. When Professor McGonagall reached the "S", James suddenly remembered the greasy monkey he had come across to in the train.

"Snape, Severus!"

"I bet you anything –" Sirius started, but he had no time to finish his sentence: the Hat had already shouted "SLYTHERIN!". Like for James, it had just brushed Snape's greasy hair.

The pale boy jumped off the stool and walked to the Slytherin table. Most Slytherins didn't look too enthusiastic about their new classmate, but James noticed they clapped along with Malfoy, who greeted Snape more warmly than James had ever seen him.

The Sorting came to an end, and the stool and the Hat were both taken away. Headmaster Dumbledore stood up and the Hall went quiet.

"Welcome for another year at Hogwarts!" he said, smiling broadly. "I'm sure the first-years are very impatient to hear the school rules, but I will ask them to wait for after the feast. They are allowed to distract themselves with the food in the meantime. Tuck in!"

The students clapped loudly as extraordinary amounts of food appeared out of nowhere in their plates. Realising suddenly how hungry they were, James and Sirius started to shovel food in their mouths as if they hadn't eaten for two weeks. To James' left, the small red-haired Lily Evans looked a bit less anxious and started eating, too.

"Are you both from all-wizard families?" she asked curiously when James had to stop eating in order to gulp down some water (he had taken really overlarge amounts of chicken). James nodded.

"You?" he asked. "Muggle-born?"

"Mug – what?"

"Muggles – non-magic people."

"Oh!" she flushed. That girl seemed to spend a lot of time flushing, in Sirius' opinion. "Yes, I'm Muggle-born. I don't know a thing about magic. I don't know how I will handle the classes if you're all more advanced than me."

"We aren't," said Sirius. "I don't know many spells, I bought my wand only this summer. We're not supposed to do magic out of school, anyway, so I wouldn't have been able to practice." The thought seemed to depress him.

"Shame," said the redhead. "I would have loved to curse my sister. She's been such a cow since I got my letter. She's a Muggle, and she's convinced I'm… very ill or something. Some sort of freak, I guess."

"I'm half-blood," Peter piped up. "My dad was a Muggle-born."

"Was?" said Sirius curiously.

"Dead," said Peter simply. "Died five years ago."

They all murmured "sorry" before changing the subject. The boys started talking about Quidditch, and Lily listened to them with her mouth open. At the end of the table, Remus was eating quietly, without looking up. The students sitting next to him, mainly first-years, had sensed his desire of being left alone and were talking among themselves.

The feast ended at last, and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The murmur of conversations died away and every face turned to look at the old wizard.

"Now that we're not hungry anymore, I daresay you're too drowsy to worry about anything except how longer I'm going to bother you – " James, Sirius and Peter exchanged grins " – yet I require your attention for the rules I am going to state. First, newcomers should know the Forbidden Forest is out-of-bounds, and some of our older students should remember this rule doesn't apply _only_ for first-years. On a related subject, I am glad to announce that Mr Chicorey, the Herbology teacher, has planted in the grounds an extremely valuable Whomping Willow. That tree is quite dangerous, and I must ask you to be very careful when you come close to it. Quidditch tryouts will take place in two weeks; they are open to every student, but I recommend the first-years not to bother trying. The only brooms they're allowed are the school brooms, which are far from being good enough in a Quidditch game."

Dumbledore smiled at the groans that greeted this part of the speech – like every year.

"If you wish to play Quidditch for your house, please submit your name at your Head of House. Prefects from each house are to lead the first-years to their dormitories. That will be all; it's getting late, and I'm sure you all want to be on form for your first classes tomorrow. Goodnight!"

They all stood up and Katie Collins called imperiously: "First-years, follow me!"

James, Sirius and Peter lingered behind to wait for Remus, but they saw him talk in a low voice with Professor McGonagall, then follow her out of the Great Hall.

"What's that about?" said James, bewildered. "Where is she taking him?"

"Haven't got a clue," said Sirius, looking at Remus' frail outline disappearing through the door they had come out earlier, whereas every student was heading for the large doors leading into the Entrance Hall.

"We'd better get a move on, or we'll be left behind," Peter pointed out, looking frightened at the mere idea.

"Right," said James, tearing his gaze from the door that had just closed behind Remus. "Let's go then."

They climbed what felt like a thousand stairs before they arrived in front of the portrait of a fat lady. They gave her the password ("Babbling Bumblebee") and the portrait swung to allow them into the common room. They were far too tired to linger there, and even James, who was known to need far less sleep than the average eleven-year-old, did nothing more than registering vaguely how welcoming and comfortable it looked, with its fire crackling merrily and its padded armchairs.

Their dormitory had five four-poster beds. They settle there with a gangly and fair-haired boy, who just took the time to ask for their names and tell them his (Anthony Bollurish) before climbing in his bed and pulling the curtains shut. Two minutes later he was snoring loudly.

James chose a bed near a narrow window, which offered a view on the Forbidden Forest. He pulled on his pyjamas and removed his glasses; next to him Sirius was already in his bed, and Peter was trying to find his pyjamas in his trunk. James got into his bed and shut the curtains around him. He felt perfectly happy right now.

Later, he awoke with a start; someone was walking very quietly past his bed. Why should the lightest noises always wake him up? Peering out of the curtains dangling around his bed, he saw Remus unpacking silently near his bed.

"Where've you been?" he whispered sleepily.

Remus jumped and looked around. "You scared me," he said. Then he started rummaging in his trunk and spoke with his back on James. "I just needed to see McGonagall, because of, you know, my registration problem. Now everything's solved."

James watched as Remus climbed into his bed and pulled the curtains shut.

"'Night," he said to the closed curtains.

There was a silence, so long he thought Remus hadn't heard him. But then Remus' voice answered him.

"Goodnight."

James was too tired to wonder about Remus' sudden shyness; he rolled on his back and fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Of the different uses of parchment planes and Levitation Spells  
**

The Great Hall was filled with the sound of hundreds of students taking their breakfast before the very first class of the year. James, Sirius and Peter were sitting together at the Gryffindor table; Remus was once more on his own.

"What's the matter with him?" muttered Sirius for the tenth time, twisting his head to have a better look at Remus. "He became all weird after we got into the boats."

"Yes, do you think we said something that upset him?" Peter asked anxiously. "He was very friendly in the train, and I can't think of anything else that could have make him change – "

"Can't you?" said James, cutting across him. He and Sirius exchanged significant glances, but Peter still looked mystified. James leant forward and spoke in a low voice:

"Haven't you noticed anything? He's all alone in the last compartment of the train. Dumbledore sends Hagrid just to bring him his letter when everyone else gets theirs by owl post. All the teachers are staring at him at the Sorting. And then he's taken away by McGonagall instead of coming along with us, and turns up only an hour later."

"Well, it's his registration problem, isn't it?" said Peter.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Registration problem! Are you actually _satisfied_ by that dim-witted explanation?"

"Shouldn't I?" Peter looked truly dumbfounded; when Sirius heaved an exasperated sigh, he reddened and looked down.

"He's got a _secret_," said James darkly. "That's obvious. And he doesn't want us to find out. That's why he's avoiding us."

Peter shot an uncertain glance in Sirius' direction, as if he was afraid of his reaction; then, picking nervously at his sausages with his fork, he mumbled without looking up:

"Why should he? I mean – in the train, Sirius did tell him we wouldn't ask him any embarrassing question, didn't he?"

This time, James and Sirius didn't know what to answer.

"I don't know," said Sirius slowly. "Maybe he's thinking we would try to discover his secret anyway. That's really stupid from him, we were really getting along well in the train. And now look at him: he's all bent and sad and pale… He could do with some company, if you ask – "

At this very moment, an owl swooped down and dropped a scarlet letter in front of Sirius.

"Uh-oh," said James, eyeing the letter warily. "Looks like one of your cousins wrote to your mum last night."

"Yeah," said Sirius, holding the letter at arm's length. "And I've got the vague impression that somehow, she wasn't too pleased with my Sorting." He got up and cleared his throat.

"Hey, everyone!" he called, waving at the other Gryffindors. They stopped talking and watched him curiously. Some students of other houses turned their heads in Sirius' direction as well.

"My mother just sent me a Howler – to protest about my becoming a Gryffindor, I guess – and knowing how it's like when she yells in her ordinary voice, I advise you all to put your fingers in your ears if you don't want to be permanently deaf by the end of the letter."

Their fellow Gryffindors laughed but didn't follow the advice: most of them knew by now Sirius' family were a Slytherin lot, and they were eager to hear what his mother would tell him. James, who vividly remembered Mrs Black's screams when he and Sirius had gone and played Quidditch during the party, clasped his hands over his ears and waited for the explosion.

Sirius opened the letter and quickly put his own fingers in his ears – and a deafening roar filled the Hall. The shrieks seemed to bore holes in James' eardrums, in spite of the protection of his hands. At first no one was able to hear actual words, then they started to distinguish the imprecations Mrs Black's magically amplified voice was screeching.

"GRYFFINDOR… OUTRAGE TO YOUR NAME AND BLOOD… INCAPABLE OF LIVING UP TO YOUR ANCESTORS' REPUTATION… SHAME ON THE WHOLE FAMILY… DON'T DESERVE BEING CALLED A BLACK… SCOUNDREL… GOOD FOR NOTHING… YOUR YOUNG BROTHER IS WORTH TEN LIKE YOU… WHEN YOU'LL BE BACK FOR CHRISTMAS WE'LL HAVE A SERIOUS CONVERSATION ABOUT IT, BELIEVE ME!"

The letter fell silent and burst into flames. James slowly removed his hands and shook his head experimentally, as if he had water in his ears. Peter's head appeared from under the table where he had fallen out of shock, and he shot a terrified look at the letter, which was now no more than a little heap of ashes. Sirius swiftly gathered the reminders of the Howler and dropped them to the stone floor. "Could've been worse," he said lightly in the stunned silence.

ooooooo

Life at Hogwarts was nothing short of exciting in James' opinion: he was always the last to fall asleep and the first to be up, and at every break he was dragging Sirius and Peter along with him to go and explore the castle.

"Settle down, will you?" said Sirius wearily once, as James was practically bouncing up and down with the excitement of discovering a passage hidden behind a tapestry. "You're making me tired just by looking at you! If you hadn't dragged me here I would be having a nap – "

"_How_ can you think about napping when I just found a secret passage?"

"Easy. I'm currently cold and uncomfortable in your bloody stony passage and my bed is somewhere upstairs, soft and warm and – "

At this point Peeves the poltergeist spotted them and started bombarding them with pieces of chalk, and they took it as the signal to retreat.

The classes themselves were fascinating. James found out his best subject was by far Transfiguration, but he was also very good in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. The other subjects weren't nearly as interesting, but he was good at them nevertheless without any hard-working. The only tricky subject was Potions: admittedly he wasn't bad at it, but he couldn't see what was so interesting about throwing in a cauldron a handful of ingredients and stirring for hours before achieving any result. He was better with a wand.

As a result, Potions classes were not very enjoyable. Not only was he getting thoroughly bored, but he had also noticed he was completely outclassed in the subject by the small red-haired Gryffindor girl – Lily Evans, something like that – and the Slytherin Snape himself. He hated the idea of being beaten by a girl and by a Slytherin – especially _this_ Slytherin; what's more Snape had been quick to notice his superiority in Potions and kept shooting James and Sirius contemptuous looks every time they asked Professor Slughorn for an explanation.

Sirius was, just like James, good at anything he tried without working. The teachers had noticed their abilities and often set them as examples for their classmates.

"I hate when he does that," mumbled James as Professor Ravent described in details James and Sirius' perfect wand-waving.

"I feel like I'm a respectable top-of-the-class student," whispered Sirius, in a voice that suggested clearly how shocked he was by this idea. "I will _never_ be able to look at myself in a mirror again…"

"We have to do something," said James firmly as they were allowed to go back to their seats. "I won't stand very long being considered as a little perfect know-it-all." He grimaced, as if those words had a foul taste in his mouth.

"Yes, but we can't exactly hex Ravent, can we?" said Sirius, in an uncharacteristically wise tone. "It's not that it wouldn't be fun, but we would get caught immediately, we're the only ones who have mastered the spell yet… And he would be able to take our wands away, and _that's_ definitely not funny."

They fell silent and gazed into space for a while, thinking hard.

"What on earth is Evans doing?" said James sharply.

Sirius looked round: half a dozen of their classmates had stopped listening to Ravent's blabbering about the legality of minor jinxes, and were instead watching the redhead Lily Evans with great interest. Lily seemed to be doing something with a large piece of blank parchment. James, who didn't like being left out, took a piece of parchment and hastily scribbled:

_I'd like to know what you are doing with this piece of parchment. Looks fascinating, but I can't see properly from where I'm sitting. Please write back. J.Potter_

Folding the message, he prodded Anthony Bollurish in the back and slipped it to him, muttering: "Give that to Evans."

Anthony obediently nudged the girl sitting in front of him and gave her the message. "From Potter to Evans," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

James and Sirius watched eagerly as the message passed from student to student, until it reached the girl sitting just behind Lily. They could read the words on the girls' lips: "From Potter." Lily took the message, frowning, and sent James an enquiring look. Unfolding the parchment, she read it with her eyebrows raised, then wrote something at the back of it before passing it back to the girl behind her.

The message made its way back to James' desk. James unfolded it; there were only two words, written in turquoise ink.

_Paper plane_.

"Paper what?" whispered Sirius, mystified.

"Muggle stuff, I think," said Peter, who had leant across James to read the message. "She's Muggle-born, isn't she?"

James raised his head to look back at Lily, who showed him discreetly the parchment she had folded into a strange object with a sharp point. When the three boys just looked at it blankly, she giggled and threw the paper plane in their direction. It flew straight towards them and landed on Anthony's desk.

James leapt out of his seat so suddenly Peter gave a little squeak, and even Sirius started in surprise. James grabbed the plane before Anthony could even move and sneaked back to his seat, excitement etched all over his face.

"This is it! What we were looking for!" He waved the plane in front of Sirius' bemused face.

"We can make as much of those as we want! We just have to aim them at quills and ink bottles, and we could create a nice mess without getting caught!"

"There's still a risk of getting caught," Peter pointed out, looking a bit frightened. "What if a teacher sees you throwing that thing?"

"Yeah, well, where's the fun without a bit of risk?" said James happily, looking fondly at the plane.

"Calm down," muttered Sirius, "and put that away. Evans is laughing at you."

James looked round, and sure enough Lily was sniggering at his excitement. He felt his face grow hot and hastily stuffed the plane in his bag.

They examined the plane inch by inch, and soon they had learnt how to make them.

"We must be careful with them," said James authoritatively. "Not use them too often, especially not in McGonagall's classroom. She's too clever to be fooled and we would end up with half-a-dozen detentions each. I suggest we should first try in Ravent's class. Should be fun."

"Oh, and in Slughorn's," added Sirius, his eyes alight with mischief. "Make them fly into Snivellus' cauldron… Should wipe that smug grin of his off his greasy face…"

And so they did. From that day, parchment planes of all shapes and all colours flew everywhere during Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Snape received in his cauldron a plane which happened to be full of fish eyes. To his defence, Sirius said he had absolutely _no idea_ fish eyes would make a Swelling Potion turn red and explode.

Lily Evans herself had her potion totally spoiled by an acid-green plane; James swore (between two fits of laughter) he didn't know acid-green parchment, when put in contact with a Swelling Potion, would emit an ear-splitting screech before melting into a disgusting, foul-smelling green paste. Which happened to splatter Evans' hands and face, as she hastily tried to repair the damage without Slughorn noticing.

When she got rid of the green substance that covered her face and stuck to her hair, she stormed into the Common Room and found James, Sirius and Peter dutifully doing their homework. That is to say, preparing planes for the coming day.

"Uh-oh," muttered Sirius, as the small redhead came closer, her face red with anger and her mouth set in a thin line. "Storm ahead, James."

James didn't even have the time to look round: a small hand firmly grasped the plane he was carefully folding and pulled it out of his hand. He raised his head, bewildered, and found Evans' face inches from his own. He blinked and hastily leaned back in his chair.

"Something I can do for you, Evans?"

"Yes," she said in a determined voice. "I have a question."

She crossed her arms across her chest and glared down at him.

"What have I ever done to you?"

James shot an uncertain look in his friends' direction. Peter looked extremely interested in the nails of his right hand, and Sirius just looked blankly back at him.

"Come on, Evans, t'was just a joke, you don't need to – "

"It was very mean," she said in a trembling voice, "to throw that in my potion. I'm new here, I'm not coming from an all-wizard family, I don't know anything about the wizarding world… You've done that on _purpose_."

"Course not. Besides, you're not the only one we – "

"You spoiled my potion, and I had actually made it perfect, and now – "

"Is it just me," Sirius interrupted loudly, "or does someone here have a serious problem with her sense of humour? Close your mouth and open your ears, Evans. It. Was. A. Joke! What are you afraid of, anyway? You're already Slughorn's favourite student!"

Evans started at Sirius' outburst and turned even redder than she already was. For a few seconds they thought she was going to start yelling – or crying, it was hard to tell; all James knew was he really didn't want her to do either of those things. The situation was awkward enough. Yet she merely bit her lower lip before running up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Peter heaved a relieved sigh.

"This girl's going to cause a lot of trouble," he said.

"What makes you say that?" said James distractedly, picking up his plane and smoothing the wings.

"Nothing, he's just afraid of girls," said Sirius idly.

"It's not that," mumbled Peter, mortified. "It's just – you know, she looks very shy and everything, and suddenly she shows up and starts telling us off. And she's good in class, too. Once she's got used to magic, she could become –"

"A red-haired nuisance," completed Sirius, nodding. "I see your point."

James lifted his plane at eye-level, watching it with a slight frown.

"Where d'you think we could find enough spiders to fill this one?"

ooooooo

After a few days they grew tired of throwing paper planes, mainly because now most of their classmates had taken to making planes as well; Professor McGonagall, who had received many complaints, put the entire class in detention and threatened to take every single point left from Gryffindor. The Gryffindor first-years regretfully gave up on the planes, but James, Sirius and Peter decided they couldn't decently leave their classmates, in danger of sinking once more into the dreadful boredom they had suffered from before the Plane Era.

So they started looking for other ideas. Sirius discovered in their Charms book the Levitation spell, and though they were not supposed to learn it before long he and James practised it anyway: Levitate objects in class was a very tempting idea. Poor Peter had trouble with the simplest spells and all he could do was watching his friends' feats.

As soon as they had mastered the spell, no teacher had a moment of peace: pieces of chalk, books, rolls of parchment, quills and ink bottles rose unexpectedly in the air to fall abruptly on their heads. Sirius and James (who had been both bored to death during their detention and weren't looking forward to another one) were very careful, whispering very quietly the incantation and waving their wands under their desks, and they never got caught. The teachers were at a complete loss of explanation for this strange phenomenon; after all first-years weren't supposed to know about the spell yet…

ooooooo

As for Remus, he was working hard and doing well. He tried very hard not to think about what would have been his life if he hadn't refused to have Sirius, James and Peter as friends. Several times, they had called after him in the corridors or at lunch, but he had pretended he couldn't hear them. Now they seemed to have given up… He tried to tell himself this was for the best, yet he often caught himself watching the three of them longingly, as they whispered like conspirators in classes.

It was the end of their third week at Hogwarts, and Remus looked paler and thinner than ever. He felt constantly feverish now, and he knew what that meant. And he was terrified by it.

"He looks sick, don't you think?"

Sirius yawned, and tiredly leant forward to have a better view at Remus. He looked at him for a few seconds, then straightened up and stretched, yawning again. Next second he had collapsed on the table, his head in his arms. James impatiently elbowed him in the ribs. "Well?" he urged him.

Sirius groaned. "You're really a pain in the neck, did you know that? Maybe _you_ need only three hours' sleep, but the rest of us are quite happy with our ten hours a night, thank you very much."

"You would spend most of your time sleeping if I let you," retorted James. "And that was not what I was talking about. What d'you think of Remus?"

"You bloody well know what I think of him, we've already talked about him before. He looks ill, and so what? He has the right to be ill, hasn't he?"

"Yes, but… Oh, never mind, forget it." James knew by now there was no way Sirius' (otherwise considerable) curiosity could be aroused before he was fully awake, which took an extraordinary amount of time in his opinion.

"Thank you." Sirius buried his face in his arms again and started to snore a bit too loudly. James rolled his eyes and looked back at Remus. It wasn't only that he looked ill, he also looked scared – though James couldn't possibly think of a reason for it.

"He's not paying as much attention as usual in class," said Peter tentatively. He was watching James with a slight frown. "But the teachers don't mind. Even McGonagall doesn't seem to be angry at him… Weird, isn't it?"

James nodded, without taking his eyes off Remus. The latter looked up and met James' eye; at once he started and turned horribly livid. James tried to smile encouragingly at him but Remus was now getting up and hurrying along the Gryffindor table. He practically ran to the doors and into the Entrance Hall, as if James' gaze was burning him.

James stared after him, his mouth stupidly hanging open, utterly flabbergasted. Sirius had lifted his head and was also staring at the door, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Peter's eyes were as round as galleons.

"There is definitely a spider on the ceiling," said Peter slowly, in a hushed voice.

James and Sirius blinked and looked up. Of course they couldn't see any spider on the magical ceiling, which was cloudy that morning. They looked back at Peter.

""A spider on the ceiling"?" said Sirius. "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about?"

"Oh!" Peter reddened. "Sorry, it's – it's the translation of a French expression. When the French say someone has a spider on the ceiling, it means they are a bit – a bit of a weirdo, you know… Like Remus…"

"How come you're using French expressions?" Sirius looked distinctly confused; he hadn't even noticed he was vigorously digging his knife in the wooden table, a good two inches from his plate. Peter started twisting the hem of his shirt in his fingers.

"Well, it's – it's the woman who's been taking care of me for five years… She's French, and when she tries to speak English she merely translates French word for word. So I came to use French expressions, without meaning it…" he had a sort a frightened laugh. "Stupid, isn't it?"

"Why do you need someone to take care of you?" asked Sirius curiously. "Why can't your mum do that?"

Peter hung his head.

"My mum has turned a bit – a bit weird since my dad died, you know. She thinks he's still alive and – well – she can't really live alone. So Marina takes care of both of us. She accompanied me to Diagon Alley, and to Platform 9 ¾ and everything…"

James and Sirius exchanged uncomfortable looks. James was starting to wonder if he was the only one who had had a normal childhood.

"I wrote to her about you," Peter went on, his whole face suddenly lighting up with a smile. "I said I had two friends who helped me in class, I told her we were always together. She wrote back – her letter's hard to understand because she's even worse at writing English than at speaking it. But from what I could understand, she read my letter to mum and they were both very happy about it, and my mum was more _normal_ than she had ever seen her…" He beamed at them. "Mum even wrote me a few lines at the end of the letter!"

Sirius smiled warmly at Peter.

"Well, I'm sure that letter was more enjoyable than any of those I ever received from my dear family," he said cheerfully. "But we should really go now, or we're going to be late in Transfiguration."

The three of them got up. James was still unsure about what to say; Peter's story had made him deeply uncomfortable. As Peter came closer to him, he made up his mind:

"Erm – Peter?" Peter looked at him enquiringly. "We're glad you're our friend as well, you know."

Peter beamed again.

ooooooo

"Sirius?"

"Mm?"

"A bit dull, don't you think – Levitate books and chalk?"

"Well, I do have a thing for ink bottles, you know, when you let them down and they splatter – "

"Yeah, but we already did it. Twice."

"And so? Don't you like covering Snivellus in red ink?"

"Actually I liked better the turquoise one. But that's not the point: we should vary our targets a bit."

"I guess you're right, people have started hiding their ink bottles in their bags. Shocking lack of trust from our own classmates. But what d'you suggest? To lift McGonagall up?"

"Not exactly – what about her favourite student?"

"What are you talking about? _You_ are her favourite student!"

"Potter! Black! Will you be kind enough to pay attention?" barked Professor McGonagall.

They started and looked up innocently. She walked to James' desk and peered through her square glasses at the perfect buttons he had made.

"That's quite good, Potter. If you were as quiet as most of your classmates, I would have nothing to say. Same goes for you, Black. And I think this button still has antlers – " Sirius hastily picked up his wand and murmured an incantation; his button lost its antlers and stopped vibrating at once. "Now that's better," said Professor McGonagall appreciatively. "Pettigrew, I don't think I've ever seen such buttons. As a matter of fact, I can't think of a way of buttoning a shirt if the buttons keep running in every direction…"

It took a while before Professor McGonagall grew tired of Peter's fruitless attempts to turn his beetle into a button. Finally she gave him extra homework and walked away. At this very moment, they heard a shriek in the corridor, followed by a loud crash and a cackle of laughter.

"PEEVES!" shouted Professor McGonagall furiously, opening the door of her classroom. There was another crash and another cackle of laughter, and she turned on the doorstep to face her silent students.

"I'm going to sort that out. Go on with your attempts, I'll be back in a few minutes." She walked out, closing the door behind her. James resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened.

"Obviously when I said "her favourite student", I was talking about somebody else… Who had never been told off in her entire life? Who is always top of the class – well, equal with us, obviously – in Charms? Whose brilliance is Slughorn always raving about in Potions?"

Sirius slowly turned his head to look at somebody on his right. Then he looked back at James, a dark expression on his face.

"No way, James. I won't let you do that. Blacks are gentlemen. We don't curse women."

James looked at him incredulously, and Peter's face fell with disappointment.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Of course I'm kidding, you idiot. When do we start?"

"Excuse me," said another voice from behind them.

They looked round. It was Remus.

"You're going to levitate a _girl_?" he said doubtfully. "When you never levitated anything heavier than a Charms book?"

"Yep," answered Sirius proudly.

Remus shook his head.

"It's not going to work. You're not even supposed to know about the spell. If you do that, you're geniuses."

"Well, watch," said Sirius. He picked his wand on his desk and pointed it discreetly on his right.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" he whispered.

At once, a red-haired girl rose in the air. She let out a shriek and the other students looked round.

"Lily!" squealed a few girls. "What are you doing up there?"

"I don't know!" wailed Lily Evans, whose head was now close to the ceiling. "I – someone must have cast the Levitation spell on me – can you let me down, whoever it is? This is not funny at all!" her voice rose to a scream as Sirius gave little flicks of his wand, causing her head to bump softly into the ceiling several times. Some students looked scared and clutched their desk as if they were afraid of being levitated unexpectedly, others laughed as Lily started a strange dance, following every move of Sirius' wand.

"Brilliant!" whispered James, almost choking from repressing his laughter. "Now it's my turn! I've got an idea."

Sirius lowered his wand and Lily fell abruptly with a scream. James muttered the incantation just before she crashed on her desk and she shot upward once more, her face livid with fright, her eyes tightly shut. James moved her wand slowly to the left and Lily moved in the same way across the ceiling; students were looking up at her, some of them open-mouthed, completely transfixed, others howling with laughter. Lily didn't have many friends; she was too brusque – if not scathing – for that.

"Just a bit more to the left…"

Lily reached the chandelier hanging in the middle of the ceiling and James abruptly lifted the spell. She let out a high-pitched scream when she felt herself falling again, but she didn't go very far: the collar of her robes was entangled in the chandelier, and she was left hanging helplessly from the ceiling. The students burst out laughing as she ridiculously swung back and forth. Sirius, James and Peter were laughing so hard they were about to fall off their seats, and Remus himself couldn't help grinning.

"_Wingardium Leviosa! _"

James gasped in shock as he was abruptly lifted in the air. His head hit the ceiling painfully and his glasses slipped down his nose; he only had the time to catch them before they fell.

"Ow! Sirius, that hurt!"

"Erm… As a matter of fact, I didn't do it, James…" Sirius had stopped laughing and he sounded slightly nervous.

James put his glasses back on and found himself facing a furious-looking Lily Evans, still hanging from the chandelier, her wand in her hand and pointed at his chest.

Oh. She was tougher than he had thought.

"All right, Evans?" he said gaily, crossing his legs in mid-air and waving at her. "Know about the spell? I should've guessed. Did you learn your whole Charms book by heart before even coming here?"

Somewhere below him, his classmates were laughing again.

Lily reddened with anger.

"You're the one to talk! You've been levitating everything you've met for the past week," she snarled. "Is that your idea of fun, Potter?"

"Well, if you had seen yourself swinging at the ceiling, you would have laughed as well. No one can keep a straight face in front of that," answered James, incapable of hiding his broad grin at the recollection.

"Really?" she hissed, raising her wand threateningly, "Well I – didn't – think – it – was – so – funny…" And with every word she made James' head bang against the ceiling again.

"Ouch! Cut it out, Evans, it was just a joke…"

"How very amusing," she said icily. "I can hardly breathe for laughing so hard…"

But James had had enough. He whipped the air with his own wand and the chandelier began to rotate; Lily screamed again, trying desperately to stop the chandelier with which she was spinning faster and faster. She involuntarily waved her wand and James, with a thrill of horror, felt himself falling. He slammed painfully into one of the desks, knocking it over, and lay on the floor for a whole minute, fighting to catch his breath.

Before he could get to his feet, Lily finally fell from the still-spinning chandelier, and landed in the middle of a group of girls who had been too slow to get out of the way. The two girls on which Lily had collapsed shrieked and clutched their friends to prevent themselves from falling – and of course they all fell over in a heap.

James got up at last, rubbing his bruised knee, and considered the mess: desks overturned, girls struggling to get up, people laughing and swearing as they tried to find all their things. Sirius, Peter and Remus joined him, almost choking with laughter.

"You were right – that was so fun!"

Sirius' words rang in the classroom, which had abruptly gone silent. James and Sirius wheeled around and found themselves face-to-face with a livid Professor McGonagall.

"I had the privilege to watch the last part of your amusing little party," she said, literally shaking with anger. "And I saw and heard enough to conclude the pair of you are responsible for it – and for the unexplained chalk-flying my colleagues had to endure this past week. But I would never have thought _you_, Miss Evans, would use a spell on another student. "

James and Sirius exchanged a bewildered look and started speaking at the same time.

"It wasn't her, Professor – "

" – we started it – "

" – it was just a stupid joke – "

"Whoever started it, Miss Evans did use the Levitation Spell on you, Potter, which she wasn't allowed to do whatsoever. I'm afraid I know the school rules much better than you do."

James opened his mouth, realised he had nothing to say and closed it again. Behind him someone was sniffing, and he was pretty sure it was Lily Evans.

Professor McGonagall dismissed all the students except Sirius, James and Lily, all three of which were given a dreadful, ten-minutes-long telling-off and detentions. When they got at last out of the classroom, Sirius and James ran into Peter and Remus who had been waiting for them.

"So?" said Peter apprehensively. "Detention?"

"Yeah," said Sirius, sounding unconcerned. "One for Evans and two for James and I because we started it. And we must have lost Gryffindor 'bout sixty points."

Peter looked impressed.

So did Remus. "I can't believe you did that," he said to Sirius and James. "You're really, really good, you know. I've been trying to practice the Levitation spell ever since I saw you use it, but I still can't do it."

"We can help you, if you like," said Sirius. "It's quite fun. How about tonight in the common room?"

Remus hesitated for a while.

"Sounds good," he said at last.

James and Sirius exchanged a grin.

The four of them sat together at the Gryffindor table for lunch that day. Lily Evans shot them a filthy look before taking a seat as far from them as possible.

"And by the way, James" said Remus, glancing furtively at the carrot-haired girl, "you and Lily Evans arguing in the air was the funniest thing I had ever seen."

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello there! As promised, here is chapter 6. I'm quite fond of it, to tell the truth. I hope I'll hear from you this time, I didn't get any review for last chapter... Anyway, expect chapter 7 next week... Happy reading!**

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Chapter 6 : Of snowball fights, death by soap bubbles and family obligations

_Dear Mum, _

I'm sorry I didn't write sooner. It's been at least two weeks since my last letter and I feel really bad about it. Actually I've been really busy lately, the classes are getting more and more interesting, and I found myself three friends. They are James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. We are always together, it's great to be a group like that. I met them on the Hogwarts Express, but we became close friends only recently. James and Sirius are always planning something, they've already landed themselves in a lot of trouble, but they're terribly funny and very clever. Peter is very nice, he's always shy and quiet, very much unlike the other two. I don't think they suspect anything about my condition, there have been three "special nights" since we first became friends and I told them I was visiting you because you were ill. I hope that's okay with you, I didn't think about asking for your permission, I'm sorry about it. Don't worry about me, I'm really happy here, much more than I expected to be.

I miss you and Dad, I hope you're both well and I'm looking forward to seeing you at Christmas.

With love,

Remus.

ooooooo

A ray of light crept between the curtains drawn around one of the beds in the first-years dormitory and fell upon its occupant's face. Remus grunted and blindly groped for the curtains, which he firmly pulled closed again, blocking out the light. With a sigh of relief he rolled onto his back with every intention to fall asleep again.

Someone abruptly pulled open the curtains and the sunlight suddenly bathed Remus' bed. With a moan he turned on his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.

"Come on, Remus, get up!" shouted (much too loudly) a voice belonging without any doubt to the someone who had awoken him so brutally.

Remus groaned.

"What's the time?" he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Eight o'clock. Hurry up, it snowed last night!" A hand grabbed Remus' pillow, pulled it firmly out of his grasp and threw it on the floor. Remus sat up straight, rubbing his eyes, and weakly tried to protest:

"Eight o'clock? James… it's the week-end!"

James, who was already fully clothed, gave him a look that plainly meant "And so what?"

"Come on, get up," he repeated, "there's at least a foot of snow on the ground. I'm gonna wake the others up."

Remus sighed and got dressed; then he watched as James woke Peter up (by pushing him so that he fell from his mattress onto the floor), before moving to Sirius' bed. Things started to get slightly complicated, as Sirius had obviously planned to stay in bed until noon and was violently opposed to James' intrusion.

"Ouch! Gerroff, d'you know what time it is?"

"Yeah, it's a quarter past eight, now get up."

"A quarter past – A QUARTER PAST EIGHT? It's SATURDAY, you twit! I'm not getting up! Get off, I said! OH NO, DON'T YOU DARE, JAMES, DON'T – "

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Sirius flew upward at once and cursed furiously as his head bumped into the ceiling.

"You'll pay for that!" he snarled with a filthy look. "Third time this week you're using this damn spell on me! My sleep is _sacred_, Potter, and you –"

"That's right, so you're not interested in a snowball fight, are you?"

"If you think you're going to coax me into – did you say a _snowball fight_? It _snowed_?"

"Well, yes, but I think Remus, Peter and I are going to let you sleep – "

"Oh, do shut up and let me down."

After James had sent his friend crashing on the floor, the curtains of the last bed were pulled apart and a tousle-haired head appeared.

"You know, guys, it's really tiring to share a dormitory with you," said Anthony Bollurish wearily.

ooooooo

"STOP IT! I'M ALL WET!"

"Well that's the risk of a snowball fight, Peter – "

"Why can't we switch teams?" said Peter furiously, getting to his feet and brushing off the snow covering his hair and face. "You and James are always together, and your aim is much better than mine or Remus'. That's unfair, if you ask me."

"Sorry but you make such a lovely round target –"

"Well well well… First-years playing in the snow… Isn't that positively _cute_?"

James froze as he aimed a snowball at Remus. The four boys turned around and found themselves facing a group of sneering Slytherins, gathered around Lucius Malfoy.

"My parents were right about Gryffindor," drawled Narcissa Black, delicately smoothing her skirt. "When you land there, you have a strong tendency to _regression_."

"Oh yeah?" said Sirius, his grey eyes darkening with anger. "Well that's better than being a fifty-year-old hag stuck in a eleven-year-old girl's body, if you ask me, Cissy."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," sighed Lucius Malfoy, resting a hand on Narcissa's shoulder to prevent her from answering. "The way you're choosing your friends will always surprise me, James. You're behaving like a blood-traitor."

James felt his cheeks grow hot. There was a sharp intake of breath from the Slytherins, who knew, as well as he did, that it was the most serious accusation for a pure-blood; they were all watching him, avidly waiting for his reaction. He slowly lowered the hand that still held the snowball and took a few steps toward Malfoy.

"Sorry to break your heart," James hissed in a low voice. "Did you really think I was going to pick _you_ as a friend? When I'm already ashamed we're blood-relatives? I'd rather be called a Muggle-lover than run along slimy gits such as you."

A stunned silence followed this statement. James knew he had uttered nothing less than a blasphemy for the pure-blood society, but he stood his ground, head held high, his hand instinctively clutching his wand in his pocket. Bellatrix Black was livid with indignation, and even Malfoy seemed to have lost his usual composure.

"Watch your mouth, Potter," he murmured, his cold gaze fixed on James' face. "You pathetic little brat… I don't know how much longer I'm going to resist the temptation to make you swallow your pride –"

"Oh, I'd love to see you try," sniggered Sirius, coming to James' side and drawing his wand.

"What do you think you can do against us, Black?" said an oily, unpleasantly soft voice they hadn't heard before. "You're just a fool who knows no more than the pitiful spells he has been taught at _school_."

Severus Snape had stepped forward, detaching himself from the bunch of Slytherins, and was smirking at Sirius and James. His stand was slightly different from the one he had had in the train: he was no longer bent and wary, but straight-backed and confident. He was playing nonchalantly with his wand, tapping it lightly in the palm of his left hand.

Sirius growled in rage and raised his wand, but Remus seized his wrist.

"Don't let him provoke you, that's what he's expecting…"

"I don't give a damn!"

"What are you saying, Lupin?" sneered Snape. "Fearing to land yourself into trouble again because of your idiotic friends?"

Remus slowly let go of Sirius' wrist and his gaze hardened as he looked into the Slytherin's face.

"As if all your friends weren't going to hex us before he's said half of the incantation," he answered coolly. "You were talking about regression? Tell me, how grown-up are you, a group of about ten guys, mostly between third and seventh year, provoking four first-years?"

"Running to McGonagall, already?" whispered Snape, his smirk widening.

"Nobody's running, Snape. Of course I wouldn't mind if _you_ were – you're quite ruining the beauty of the landscape, you know." This time it was James who had spoken.

Snape's eyes narrowed and his lip curled. He and James and Sirius had had several fights already. Snape resented James and Sirius' brilliance in almost every subject, and James and Sirius hated Snape's smug expression and sarcastic remarks, every time their own potion was not as good as their enemy's. Snape had never forgiven them the spoiling of his Swelling Potion, and the two friends strongly suspected the liquid they had found in their pumpkin juice the following morning had been the Slytherin's revenge. That potion had made them turn a nasty shade of electric blue – without mentioning the unimportant fact they had spent the whole morning being sick over and over again in the bathroom. Since that day, they had not met in the corridors without exchanging insults, or even spells, landing themselves in detention several times.

"Running?" Snape repeated softly. "I don't plan to run. Do you think I'm afraid of you, Potter? You'll be surprised to hear it, but you're not the only one who has the right to enjoy the grounds."

"You'd better be afraid, you slimy –" started Sirius furiously.

"He's right, Sirius," said suddenly James, shaking his head.

Sirius' mouth fell open.

"He has the right to enjoy the snow as much as we do," James went on, while Snape was eyeing him suspiciously, but with a hint of satisfaction in his cold black eyes.

"But –"

"So let him enjoy the snow," concluded James lightly. And the snowball which had been destined to Remus suddenly flew straight in Snape's face.

Sirius roared with laughter and he and James started to make snowballs as fast as possible, showering the Slytherins with snow; Remus and Peter soon joined in the fight. The Slytherins tried to avoid the snowballs, cursing furiously; some of them pulled out their wands and began to fire hex after hex at the four Gryffindors.

The chaos was indescribable : James was aiming snowballs at the eyes and some of their opponents, blinded by snow, were jinxing fellow Slytherins. Soon James and Sirius pulled out their wands and alternately threw snowballs and curses at the Slytherins. Remus had feebly protested had first ("We're not allowed magic between classes!") but when he got nearly hit by a Furunculus spell he fell silent and pulled out his wand as well. Peter was making snowballs as fast as he could, and held them out to his friends so that they wouldn't waste time bending and making them themselves.

The fight was turning quite nasty; the spells the Slytherins were using were getting more and more dangerous, and one of them hit Peter squarely in the face. He fell over and tried in vain to get up, struggling against the power that pinned him to the ground, his breathing getting irregular and difficult. Sirius earned himself a deep gash in the left shoulder, and Remus a serious burn on the cheek. The Slytherins themselves weren't totally unharmed: two or three were covered in boils, Snape had received a mixture of spells that had reduced him to a shapeless mass, lying unconscious on the ground, and Narcissa Black had been Levitated up a tree (courtesy of James) and was screaming with fear.

"How are we going to get out of this mess?" panted Remus, wincing – the burn he had on his cheek made speaking rather painful for him.

"What a question," Sirius answered through clenched teeth, aiming a spell at Malfoy, "When they're all on the ground and incapable of firing another hex, then we can go." Remus raised his eyes to the heavens but gritted his teeth and gripped his wand more firmly than before.

Malfoy blocked Sirius' spell in an almost lazy move of his wand and Sirius had to duck as his own spell came flying back to him.

James was annoyed at Malfoy's certain abilities in duelling, but even more annoyed at the bored look on his haughty features as he blocked spell after spell. He suddenly noticed a small weakness – a tiny one, but a weakness all the same – Malfoy was not guarding his right side as much as he should have… James pointed his wand at Nott's face, narrowing his eyes in concentration, then abruptly pointed it at Malfoy's right side at the very last moment, muttering:

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock as he fell forward, stiff as a board, with a muffled squeak of surprise. James grinned and lowered his wand to pick up a handful of snow he aimed at Nott.

"_Scourgify!_"

James gagged as bubbles suddenly filled his mouth, choking him. He tried to spit out the soap, but more and more was forming in his throat, bubbling in his mouth, preventing him from breathing. He heard a peal of laughter behind him, then Sirius' angry yell:

"YOU FILTHY COWARD! YOU HEXED HIM IN THE BACK!"

James fell on his knees, gagging and spitting soap; he was beginning to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he desperately needed to breath… There was a rushing sound in his ears, and small red spots were dancing in front of his eyes…

"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?"

The laughing stopped suddenly.

"_Finite Incantatem!_"

James spat out a last mouthful of soap and avidly took a deep breath, savouring the sensation of the air rushing into his lungs; still kneeling, he raised his head to find a white-faced Professor McGonagall, towering over him.

ooooooo

The door of professor McGonagall's office opened and James, Sirius and Remus stepped out, looking a bit shaken. James carefully closed the door behind him and the three of them walked along the corridor, uncharacteristically quiet. When they had turned a corner, Sirius leaned against the wall and heaved a deep sigh.

"Well, it could've been worse."

At these words, Remus almost cried out in frustration. "Really? We got two week's detentions! That'll last us 'til the Christmas Holidays!"

Sirius raised his eyebrows at him in sincere surprise. "Oh, come on, Remus. Are you alive or aren't you?"

"Well… yeah, I am, but –"

"Count yourself as lucky, then. My dear cousin Bellatrix would've killed you without second thoughts. She almost choked James to death with her Scourgify spell."

"By the way, how's your shoulder?" asked James hurriedly, trying to change the subject. He somehow had the feeling that the glory of having almost died had a strange tendency to disappear when soap bubbles were involved.

"Oh, fine, Madam Pomfrey fixed it in two seconds. Just like Remus' cheek. She's going to keep Peter a little longer, though; but she said he should be okay."

"Great. Well, on the whole, we had fun, didn't we?" said James cheerfully, as they climbed a staircase that would lead them to the sixth floor.

Remus stopped dead in his tracks.

"We had fun?" he repeated in a strangely high-pitched voice. "_We had fun?_ We almost got killed, _I_'ve got a hell of a cold because we got wet and it was _bloody chilly_ outside, we landed ourselves in detention for two weeks… And you said WE HAD FUN?"

James and Sirius turned around to look at him, taken aback. Remus never got upset – and he never swore.

"What? Wasn't it fun to throw snowballs at them? And did you see Snape's face?" asked James.

"Well… I hardly did, as he didn't have much of a face left once the pair of you had dealt with him, did he?" answered Remus reluctantly.

"I disagree, he was much more good-looking," said Sirius with a straight face. James burst out laughing and Remus grinned in spite of himself.

"And what about Narcissa? Screaming on her tree?" asked Sirius, smiling dreamily at the recollection. James was shaking with laughter and Remus' grin widened.

"And we did kick the Slytherins' ass, didn't we?" concluded Sirius.

"Yeah, we did," hiccupped James, "and they've got twice as many detentions as we have, as they were older than us, and they've lost Slytherin the triple of points we lost Gryffindor. And half of them are still stuck in the hospital wing. That's a complete victory!"

Remus closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again and wearily ran a hand through his light-brown hair.

"I begin to understand what Anthony means. It's tiring to be with you."

"But it's so much more fun," said James happily, waving absent-mindedly his wand at a suit of armour. The suit swayed dangerously on the spot, then crashed on the floor with a deafening noise – soon followed by a furious cry.

"What's going on? WHO DID IT?"

The three boys started. "Filch," said Sirius succinctly. Then the three of them broke into a run and didn't stop until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

There, they nearly ran into a girl who was waiting just outside the portrait. "Sorry," said James distractedly.

"No problem Potter," answered a rather cold voice. James looked up and took several steps backward: he had just run into Eleanor Tackhild, the bespectacled, thick-haired sullen girl he had met at the Blacks' party. She was one of Lucius' Slytherin friends and had actually took part in the fight

Sirius had recognized her as well and automatically drew his wand.

"Wand away, Black," spat Eleanor Tackhild, "I didn't want to speak to you. I came to talk with Potter."

"And what d'you want to tell me?" asked James warily. After all, she was a Slytherin; what was more, a Slytherin quite taller than him, not to mention much broader.

"Your aim is good," she said simply.

James stared.

"I noticed that during the fight – your aim's really good. Do you play Quidditch?"

"Yes," answered James, puzzled.

"Which position?"

"Cha – why do you care?"

She shrugged. "Only asking. See you around, Potter."

And she walked away.

James turned to give Remus and Sirius an enquiring look, as if waiting for an explanation. Remus looked blankly back, obviously as bemused as he was, and Sirius shook his head.

"Mental, the lot of them," he commented. "C'mon, let's get in. Blabbering Bumblebees."

The portrait swung to allow them in the Common Room; before they had the time to step in, many hands shot towards them and grabbed their arms, pulling them forcefully into the room.

"HERE THEY ARE! THE LITTLE FIRST-YEARS!"

The whole Gryffindor house seemed gathered in the Common Room, cheering and clapping and laughing. James, Sirius and Remus exchanged a flabbergasted look as students they had never talked to started congratulating them, shaking their hands, filling their pockets with crisps and sweets and forcing bottles into their hands.

"A snowball fight with the Slytherins!" roared Katie Collins, looking quite beside herself. "Malfoy's gang! Ten on four! All older than you! Half of them still in the hospital wing! Boys, _this is great_!"

"Brilliant!"

"Incredible!"

"That'll stay in Hogwarts' memory, that will!"

ooooooo

"We are so great!" shouted Sirius that night, bouncing up and down on his bed, a large smile spread on his – quite flushed – face.

Remus sighed and looked helplessly at James. "I thought you were supposed to be the tiring one?"

James shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't know what they had him drink at the party. He's been a bit funny since…"

"That's a bit of an understatement," said Peter delicately. "He climbed the stairs hopping from step to step on one foot, singing loudly and _very_ badly, and he spent the last half an hour dancing around the dormitory with his cauldron on his head."

James and Remus sniggered.

"How did your meeting with McGonagall go?" asked Peter, unwrapping a toffee and stuffing it into his mouth. Having just returned from the Hospital Wing, he had not heard yet what sort of punishment they would suffer.

"Not that bad, if you ask me," answered James, lying down on his bed with his hands behind his head and looking idly at the ceiling. "We've got our first detention Monday night, Slughorn's office."

Peter stopped chewing and paled slightly.

"Our _first_ detention?" he repeated uncertainly. "How many did she give us?"

"Oh, only one for every evening of the two weeks until the Christmas Holidays," said Remus sarcastically. "As Sirius so rightly said, it could've been worse, couldn't it?"

"Speaking of the Christmas Holidays," said James, yawning widely, "where are you guys going? I thought about the four of us staying at Hogwarts. Should be fun, shouldn't it?"

"I can't stay," said Remus quickly.

A little too quickly.

Remus felt himself reddening under James' suspicious glance. "I – I mean…" he stammered. "I promised I would be home for the holidays… Family obligations, you know…" He glanced sideways at James, and hastily looked back at his book when he met his eye.

His friends had never asked him any question since the day James had Levitated Lily Evans. Every time Remus had had to leave the castle, he had said he went to visit his mum. Peter seemed satisfied by this explanation, and if Sirius had any doubt, he had forgotten them by the following morning. Thank God Sirius was the most thoughtless boy Remus had ever known – any opportunity to play a prank on Snape would push the mystery surrounding Remus to the back of his mind. That was lucky, as he was smart enough to guess the truth if he really wanted to.

James, on the other hand, often made Remus deeply uneasy. He had the knack for spotting any tiny unusual thing, and he loved mysteries. Every time Remus had been about to let something slip about his condition, James had had that suspicious look on his face, even if the other two hadn't paid any attention. Remus knew he wouldn't be able to fool James much longer, but he simply couldn't muster the courage of stopping being his friend. James was the most loyal friend, and what was more, stopping hanging around with him would mean giving up on Sirius and Peter's friendship as well. Remus had long realised James was the centre of their little group; he and Sirius were the best friends in the world and Peter had for him a limitless admiration. Between James and Remus, the others wouldn't hesitate a second.

_Coward…_

Remus was roughly pulled out his reverie when he received James' pillow fully in the face.

"That Tackhild girl was right," he growled, bending to retrieve the book he had dropped in shock. "Your aim's too accurate for your own good. One day you'll get cursed in the back if you don't watch out."

"I've already been, remember?" answered James lightly. "The Scourgify thing? Anyway, I was asking where you planned to go on holidays with your family, but maybe I'll just let you go back to your planet. You'll send me a postcard from there…"

Remus shrugged, smiling in spite of himself at James' sarcasm. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay home with my parents."

James raised his eyebrows at him. "That's it? I would've thought staying at Hogwarts would be much more interesting than spending three weeks with your parents…"

"I already told you, I have family obligations," said Remus, now a little annoyed at James' insistence.

"And so what?" scoffed James. "So do I. I'm supposed to attend that stupid big party my parents give every year at Christmas. But I can write and say I'll stay at Hogwarts instead, that'll spare me the bloody _family obligation_."

"Then why don't you?" retorted Remus, his voice rising. "Do it and leave me alone, okay? You may think you're above such things as family, but that's not everybody else's case!"

A ringing silence followed Remus' answer; the only thing that could be heard in the room was Sirius' vague singing. Peter and James just stared at Remus, wide-eyed in shock.

James was astounded; not only had he never been told such things – his parents would never force him to do anything when he pointedly refused to – , but being told them so sternly by _Remus_, who never got mad at anybody, was nothing short of startling.

Remus didn't hold his gaze very long. He soon blushed and looked down, muttering "Sorry…"

James shook his head. "No, _I'm_ sorry," he said. "That was none of my business."

There was an awkward pause, then James turned to Peter and asked loudly:

"You, Peter? Going home as well?"

"Well, yes," said Peter, relieved that James and Remus had stopped arguing. "I have to see my Mum, or she'll forget about me… Marina wrote to me… she said she was talking about me all the time to my Mum, showing her photos and everything, but Mum often answered she didn't know who I was." Peter raised his head and caught a shocked expression on James and Remus' faces. They quickly hid their surprise, but Peter just smiled shyly.

"That's all right, I'm not that surprised you know, I had never left her for such a long time…" He looked down, distractedly chewing the nails of his left hand, while he twisted his sheet in the fingers of his right hand. James shifted uneasily on his bed, wishing he hadn't asked Peter. Stupid idiot. He should have guessed…

"In that case I just have to go home as well," he said in an all-suffering voice, doing his best to interrupt Peter's depressing thoughts. "I won't be staying here if you three don't stay with me. Spending Christmas all alone with Snivellus…" He comically shivered and made an ugly grimace, making Peter laugh; Remus himself, despite his argument with James, couldn't help smiling.

"You didn't ask Sirius," Peter pointed out.

"Oh, I had forgotten him…"

"Lucky you," muttered Remus, wincing as Sirius' voice went particularly out of tune. James laughed, picked his pillow from the floor and threw it at Sirius. The latter lost his rather unsteady balance and landed flat on his back on the bed, laughing madly.

"Where're you going for the holidays?" asked James, speaking loudly over Sirius' giggles.

Sirius suddenly choked and emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a terrified squeak. Sitting bolt upright, he looked at James with an horrified expression.

"Oh no… I had forgotten… the holidays…" He buried his face into his hands. "How am I going to survive 'til the beginning of next term?" he asked, his voice muffled but clearly desperate.

"What are you – Oh!" Comprehension dawned on James' face. "Your mother?"

Sirius nodded grimly. "My mother. She said that if I don't show up at the Christmas Holidays, she'll have me removed from Hogwarts. I have to go home… And she'll make my holidays a living hell, you'll see…"

He gripped his black hair with both hands and forcefully pulled on it in despair.

ooooooo

The holidays went awfully slowly. As much as James appreciated to be able to fly again all day long, he greatly missed his three friends. Peter and Sirius had written to him; Peter said he was having a good time with Marina and his mother, who had finally recognized him and was very happy to hear about his friends at school.

_She keeps asking me for details about the three of you,_ he wrote. _She's surprisingly well, and she told me she used to know your father. She says very sensible things about your family – the Healer who takes care of her said she's in recovery! I'm so happy, I remember how she was before my Dad died, and she was the most kind woman I have ever known. Now I spend my whole time with her. Marina is so happy, too, she told me I had to thank you, and Sirius and Remus, for what you did, for me and my Mum. So I thank you very, very much._

Peter's letter was dripping with such sincere joy and gratefulness James felt a lump forming in his throat. He felt almost guilty to have had a normal childhood, with normal, caring parents. He promised himself he would never let Peter down. Never, ever. He had always felt responsible for him anyway – ever since he and Sirius had pulled him out of Snape's filthy hands in the Hogwarts Express.

Sirius' letter was much more bitter. He had used James' owl, who had been sent to the Black family to bring them an invitation to the Potters' annual Christmas party.

_I'm lucky you sent your owl, I wouldn't have been able to write to you otherwise. The crazy, maniac woman I have for a mother forbid me to send any owl. She even locked up Mercury, the owl I had for my eleventh birthday. Honestly, how more mental can you get? I'm almost bursting with frustration, the pale excuse for a human being that calls himself my brother is even worse than usual. The little git doesn't want to stay with me in the same room, he shrieks in fright whenever I'm near him. My dear old mum must've told him I had a nasty disease – something like the "Gryffindor syndrome", I suppose. She yelled for at least two hours about how I had disgraced the family when I was sent in Gryffindor. Like her Howler, but ten times longer, you can imagine… _

Anyway I don't know if your parents received her answer yet, but we won't be coming to your party… We have our own party at Christmas, and of course the whole pure-blood society is invited, save for your family. My mother cringes every time I utter the name "Potter", it's rather funny to see actually. Well I'm trying to give her as much hell as she gives me, I thought that maybe if I'm insufferable enough she'll let me stay at Hogwarts next year. She already lost her temper twice. More than usual, I mean. In other words she cursed me, I had to stay in bed for two days. I refused to eat, just to piss her off.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this, I don't like to talk about my family. But I had to tell someone, otherwise I would've exploded. I know I don't need to ask you, but… Could you please keep all I tell you for yourself? I don't fancy being seen as the poor little kid complaining or something like that…

Anyway it's a fair bet that'll be the longest letter you'll ever receive from me, I hate writing. Now I'll stop before I scare myself. See you at Hogwarts.

James found himself grinning broadly at the end of the letter, even if he did feel sorry for Sirius. He was proud Sirius trusted him with so much; James was probably the one who knew him best, even if he had known him for barely more than three months. Yet, Sirius had never confided in him like that.

He didn't answer to the letter, as he had the strong suspicion Mrs Black would intercept her son's mail, and the last thing he wanted to do was getting Sirius into more trouble. He had expected the Blacks' refusal to go to his parents' party, but he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed – maybe Sirius and he would have been able to go flying again…

He had written to Remus, careful not to ask anything that could embarrass his friend. He was very careful around Remus now, and so were Sirius and Peter. Yet the mystery surrounding Remus was fascinating him more and more… His curiosity was even more aroused when Remus sent a very short reply, thanking him for his letter and hoping his holidays were going well. That laconic and cold letter was not like Remus at all; what was he so keen in hiding from James?… Well, he had no chance to discover it before coming back at Hogwarts…

All in all, James was glad the holidays ended at last.

ooooooo

"Freedom!" shouted Sirius hoarsely, widely spreading his arms as they got off the train at Hogsmeade Station. James laughed.

"Yeah, I'm glad to be back, too," he said, looking fondly at the castle they could see in the distance.

"I need to recover from my holidays with my mother," said Sirius, a hungry glint in his eyes. "Where's Snivellus?"

Remus had a feeble smile. "You're not going to attack him right now, are you? You just had two weeks' detentions…"

Sirius pushed this objection away with an irritated wave of his hand.

"I can't exactly hex my mother, can I? And I need to hex somebody, otherwise I'm gonna explode. So it's either you or Snivellus. What's your choice?"

Remus dismissively shrugged.

"Go for Snivellus, then. I'd rather keep my face as it is – I grew rather fond of it since I saw what Snape looked like after he had found himself on the receiving end of your hexes."

"Excellent," said Sirius in a satisfied voice. "Cheer up, Peter!" he added, thumping Peter in the back. "You haven't said a word since King's Cross!"

Peter shrugged. "My Mum was crying when she saw me leaving," he mumbled. "I'm a bit depressed…"

Sirius and James exchanged a look. "Hey, you'll write to her," said Remus consolingly.

"And we can write to her as well!" said James in a sudden wave of inspiration. Sirius grimaced.

"I hate writing," he said, "but for your Mum I'll do anything. With the mother I have, I consider it's my duty to cheer up every decent mum who's left on this planet!"

Peter had a small, rather watery smile. But it was still a smile. Suddenly he didn't feel lonely anymore.

ooooooo

"Look, I _know_ we swore we wouldn't ask him any questions, but he's disappeared four times since the beginning of the year! And he comes back covered in scratches and looking as if he had been sick for two weeks! _Plus_ all the bullshit he gives us as explanations… Registration problems… Visiting his mum… That's definitely dodgy!"

"I'm well aware of it, d'you think I'm less curious than _you_ are?" James sounded truly offended by this suggestion. "But I'm glad to have him as a friend and I won't make him uneasy by asking him awkward questions. That's his business, not ours."

Sirius shot at James a look that could have expressed either disgust or disbelief, or both.

"So you're not going to try and find out about him? There's a whole _mystery_ right under your nose and you're gonna _sit here and watch_?"

James glanced around them: the library was darkening and they were alone; Remus had still not returned from the Common Room, where he had gone to fetch a new roll of parchment.

James leant forward.

"Who said I wasn't going to try and find out? I just said I wasn't going to talk to Remus about it."

He gave Sirius a significant glance. A smile slowly crept across Sirius' face and he leant back in his chair, his eyes gleaming mischievously. Peter looked at James with admiration. James simply smiled and started drumming his fingers on the table, every thought of homework forgotten as his brain began to work furiously on the Remus Mystery.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here is the weekly update! Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the previous chapters; to all those who cringed every time I made a grammatical mistake, be happy: this chapter is the first one that has been proof-read by an English speaking person. Chapter 8 is complete and has been sent to my Beta. Normally it'll be returned in time for me to post it, next Thursday... **

**Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**

Chapter 7: Of condors, wandering at night and moon-gazing

February came, along with biting, stormy winds. It had become impossible for the students to go outside as a furious snowstorm was raging day and night, drowning the grounds in a white blur and fiercely beating the solid walls of Hogwarts castle. It was so cold in the corridors the students were wearing coats, scarves and gloves to go from one class to another, and all activities, including Quidditch, had been completely interrupted.

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter automatically glanced at the magical ceiling every morning, as they entered the Great Hall, hoping that the wind would have ceased. James and Sirius both hated being locked in the castle, and as a result they were both getting quite irritable.

But it seemed that the storm just wouldn't calm down.

"Another day spent _inside_," growled James, angrily stabbing his sausages with his fork.

Remus squirmed uneasily. Once again, he looked pale and feverish. "Such a long storm in February just isn't normal," he said nervously. "It's bound to stop any day now, isn't it?"

"I hope it is so," said Peter. "No owl can fly in that storm, I haven't written to Mum for a week now…"

"Well at least it has prevented _my_ Mum from sending me her weekly Howler," spat Sirius bitterly.

Indeed, Mrs Black had taken to sending Howlers every time she heard about Sirius' misbehaviour at school. As he and James were deploying quite an impressive activity, especially now that they were bored to death from staying inside the castle, many owls had been sent to the Blacks and to the Potters since the end of the Christmas holiday.

At that moment, a great bird flew inside the Great Hall through a high window that stayed open, in the unlikely event that an owl succeeded in making it to the castle.

James was the first to spot it. "Looks like you've underestimated her! she found another way to send you letters!" he said, pointing to the bird, which was actually heading for the four of them.

People started to stare and point. It wasn't an owl. It was a condor; a huge black bird whose immense wings, covered in snow, were stretched out to their full length on either side of its body. Its long black feathers were ruffled by the violent wind outside, and it held a parcel in its sharp beak.

Sirius groaned. "She can't want to tell me off _that_ much," he exclaimed, sounding both exasperated and desperate. "That bird must've cost half as much as our house."

The condor landed gracefully on the table, knocking over most of what was on it, then to everybody's surprise it held out its beak to James.

Exchanging a puzzled look with Sirius, James timidly reached out and removed the parcel from the condor's beak. It was light and supple, and there was a letter tied to it. He broke the wax seal on the scroll of parchment, very aware of the fact that every single student in the Great Hall was watching him.

The letter was written in violet ink, in an untidy handwriting, and there were colourful drawings in every place that wasn't covered in writing. There were drawings of birds, trees and mountains, which caught the eye and made the letter rather difficult to read.

_Dear James,_

_I know you haven't heard from me in a very, very long time. I just received a letter from your dad, telling me you have started at Hogwarts this year. I was astounded to learn you were eleven already, I was absolutely certain you were around six or seven years old. I know I'm a dreadful godfather, I missed at least four or five of your birthdays. Your dad wasn't too happy, and he was right, I'm sorry I disappeared like that. _

_So I've decided to send you a gift, to make up for all those years that I've been completely invisible. But it's rather useful to be invisible, sometimes, you know. I spent so much time in the mountains, with all those fantastic birds, that I forgot everything else. I hope you'll be able to join me, in the summer holidays perhaps. A few weeks in those beautiful mountains – the Andes, you must've heard about them – and you'll forget the dreadful climate of our dear old Great Britain._

_Now, the present I'm sending you – well, it's actually TWO presents, as I trained the condor to recognize you. Now you're his master. Condors are very faithful pets and they can handle post better than owls. Such petty things as storms won't stop them, and when properly trained, they're able to fly much longer. Bear in mind this one crossed the Atlantic Ocean! He hasn't got a name yet; just call him by the name you want while stroking his beak, and he'll understand that's his name._

_Second present: well, it's in the parcel, and I suggest you open it away from prying eyes. It's a rather curious object and it's much more fun to use when no one knows about it. I found it long ago on one of my trips…_

_I added a few drawings on this letter; they represent some of the things I see daily, and I hope they'll make you want to see the real things with your own eyes. You're the only one who can convince your parents to let you go on a trip in the Andes with me; if I was the one offering, you'd probably stay in our old Europe for the rest of your life!_

_Don't try to answer me, I'll be on a very long trip, and it'll be impossible to contact me – even for a condor – for the next few months._

_With love,_

_Uncle Cecil. _

James' eyes widened when he saw the signature. He almost never heard of that cousin of his father's, who was what his mother called an "eccentric". Uncle Cecil was his godfather, and he had spent all his adult life abroad; he was currently in Latin America, devoting himself to his passion for exotic animals. James hadn't seen him since he was a very small child, and he couldn't remember how he looked like. He did remember, however, the strange presents he had (very occasionally) received, each one accompanied by a letter which bore wonderful drawings, similar to this one.

Uncle Cecil's letters had always made James want to leave Great Britain straight away, to see some of the marvellous things his godfather had drawn (and he was quite skilled at drawing). He had kept every single one of them, in a box under his bed, at home. But the last letter he had received was at least four years old. It had come from Equatorial Africa.

James abruptly snapped out of his reverie when Sirius elbowed him roughly in the ribs.

"Well?" he urged him. "What does it say?"

James rolled the letter back into a tight scroll and stuffed it with the parcel in his bag. "Letter from my godfather," he said shortly.

"What're you going to do with that bird?" said Peter, looking quite anxious. The condor was surveying him malevolently.

"We have to find a name for him," said James. "After that we'll take him to the Owlery."

"Are you kidding?" asked Remus incredulously. "He'll eat all the owls and then he'll die of boredom. Those birds are not used to that sort of climate." He jerked his head towards the windows. The wind was howling and splattering the windowpanes with snow.

"He's a mountain bird, he'll bear the snow," said James confidently. "Any idea for a name?"

The four boys fell silent.

"I really don't like the way he's looking at me," said Peter suddenly, sounding very nervous. "I know only one person who looks at me this way, and it's – "

He stopped dead, his eyes widening. "Hey," he said slowly, "that's an idea, isn't it?"

James, Sirius and Remus all looked at the condor. Sure enough, his severe gaze did remind them of somebody.

"That's not wrong," said Sirius, "he does look like – "

"Yes," said Remus with a grin, "definitively."

James smiled as well. "So that's settled, then?" He reached out and stroked the sharp beak with two fingers. "McGonagall," he said solemnly.

"Yes?" said an icy voice behind them.

The four boys wheeled around, to find Professor McGonagall glaring at them.

"I was wondering," she said coldly, "when you planned to remove that bird from the Great Hall, Potter. It's not quite its place, is it?"

"Yes – I mean, no, Professor, it's not" said James, "I'll take him to the Owlery."

He turned to face the condor, which was watching him expectantly.

"Erm… Well, please come here, erm…"

The condor didn't move. "You should call his name," said Sirius helpfully, a wicked glint in his eyes.

The whole Hall was listening to them.

"McGonagall," said James very quickly, holding out his arm. There was an enormous outburst of laughter at the Gryffindor table, as the condor obligingly flew to perch himself on James' shoulder. James turned around and grinned sheepishly at Professor McGonagall, who had raised her eyebrows. But she didn't seem angry – and James could have sworn he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Well, I expect to see you in my classroom as soon as you have taken my… feathery namesake to the Owlery," she said. "Black, Lupin, Pettigrew – you are not to accompany him," she added when she saw the three boys rise to follow James. "I'm sure Potter will manage on his own. Off you go, Potter."

James walked out of the Great Hall, laughter still echoing all around him; McGonagall the condor was rather heavy on his shoulder; once he reached the corridor on the first floor, James stopped and looked up at the gigantic bird hesitantly.

"Erm… maybe you could – you know – follow me, instead of staying perched here…"

The condor took off immediately, and fluttered a little ahead of James, resting on top of a suit of armour. So they went, the condor fluttering from suit of armour to statue to banister, as James was leading him to the Owlery.

The Owlery was awfully cold, as there were no windowpanes; yet the wind and the snow were magically prevented from entering through the large windows. Hundreds of owls were perched there, on the beams that supported the ceiling. McGonagall the condor looked up doubtfully, before taking off again, and flying… straight through a window.

James stared for a few seconds, marvelling at the fact he had lost his condor a mere half an hour after he had first laid eyes on him, then he ran to the window and leaned outside. It was freezing and he had trouble preventing his teeth from chattering as he called the condor's name. The condor came into view almost immediately, gracefully suspended into the air, his black wings unmoving, stretched out to their fullest length. He seemed to be coming from above.

"Where're you going?" shouted James over the howling wind.

The condor flew to the roof, and James twisted his neck to see where he had gone. He had to get half of his body out of the window to see the condor, contently perched on the top of the pointed roof. McGonagall didn't seem to mind the wind – admittedly he was slightly protected by the mass of the tallest towers of the castle, surrounding the Owlery Tower.

James retreated, as the condor didn't seem to need him. Shuddering with the cold, he shook his head to get the snow out of his hair. He suddenly realised he was late for Transfiguration – and Professor McGonagall wasn't really forgiving; he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

Then he remembered what was in his bag.

Uncle Cecil's other present.

_I'm late for Transfiguration. Besides, I'll have all the time to open it later. _

Well, yes, but… What did Uncle Cecil say again…? Open it away from prying eyes… Much more fun to use when no one knew about it…

James was the most curious eleven-year-old in the world and he didn't hesitate very long. Opening his schoolbag, he took out the parcel and ripped it open.

A long piece of cloth, light as air, fell from it and crumbled in a little heap on the floor. James picked it up. It was silvery, and it looked and felt like running water in his hands. He held it at arm's length. It was some kind of cloak.

He swung it around his shoulders, then looked down to see whether there were clips he had to fasten.

But all he saw was the floor. His body had disappeared.

Then he remembered a line in Uncle Cecil's letter. _It's rather useful to be invisible, sometimes, you know_…

"An Invisibility Cloak," he murmured, dumbstruck. "The madman sent me an _Invisibility Cloak_…"

He lifted an invisible hand and felt the soft material of the Cloak, resting weightlessly on his shoulders. A grin slowly crept across his face.

oooooo

"Sounds a bit crazy, your godfather… Sending you a _condor_, of all things," said Sirius lazily, leaning back on his bed.

"Well, yeah, he is," said James. "He's been living in the Andes for the past five years, all alone with birds… That's a good reason to get a bit – well, weird. He even offered me to spend the holidays there."

Sirius' eyes snapped open and he abruptly sat up. "And you're going to go there?" he asked eagerly.

"No idea. I don't like birds that much," answered James, looking a bit startled by Sirius' reaction. "Why?"

Sirius slowly lay down again, slightly disappointed. "I would give anything to go to somewhere like that this summer," he murmured.

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about what his summer was bound to be like, in the gloomy house he found hard to call home. Shaking these thoughts away with an impatient jerk of his head, he opened his eyes again.

"And the parcel?" he asked.

He had thought odd James hadn't mentioned the parcel since he had come back from the Owlery, that morning.

James paused as he pulled on his pyjamas and sent Sirius a strange, furtive look, then answered slowly:

"What parcel?"

Sirius frowned. What was James playing at, pretending he had forgotten about the parcel?

"Well, the parcel your godfather's bird brought you!" said Peter, looking up from his comic. "I wanted to ask you, too… What was in it?"

From his bed, Anthony Bollurish put down his book as well and looked at James expectantly.

James took off his glasses and cleaned them with a corner of his shirt. "I had forgotten about it," he said lightly. "The condor's arrival was a bit distracting… I think I put it in my bag."

Putting his glasses back on, he reached for his bag and rummaged in it. He soon straightened up, looking troubled.

"Weird… It's not there anymore…"

"Do you think someone stole it?" asked Peter in a hushed voice, his small eyes widening.

James shook his head. "No, I must've left it in the Owlery or something… I don't think we should worry about that, I'll look for it tomorrow…" He took off his glasses again and got into bed.

Peter put out his candle and lay back on his pillow, pulling the curtains shut. Sirius narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe a single word of what James had just said. He knew James well enough to know he would have been too curious not to open the parcel as soon as possible. He stared suspiciously at James, who was busy cleaning his glasses once more.

What was James hiding from him?

And, most importantly, why would he hide anything from him? From _him_, his best friend?

Sirius felt the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. He had trusted James with his most secret frustrations, with all those feelings he had been hiding for years… Didn't that count for anything? But come to think of it, had James ever realised how difficult it had been for him, to tell him all these things? No, probably not. James was loved by his parents, he had _no idea_ what it was like, to live in Sirius Black's family…

Sirius gritted his teeth. Now anger had replaced disappointment. He felt betrayed, and now he hated James as fiercely as he hated his mother, his cousins, and all those who had prevented him from living the way he wanted to… How could have he been stupid enough to think he could have a friend? James didn't need him; he never had. Of course he didn't care about him. The way he had acted so friendly towards Sirius had been a mere whim, maybe the result of a – of a morbid curiosity for him – for that boy who was forbidden to do things he, James, did daily; who was even _hexed_ by his mother.

"Good night," yawned James from his bed.

Sirius didn't answer. Anger was pounding in his head, and it took all his self-control to keep himself from rising and hitting James. He lay back on his pillows and pulled the curtains shut. He stayed awake for a long time, impatiently wiping the bitter tears running down his cheeks.

Two hours later, he was roughly shaken awake.

"Whassgoingon?" he mumbled.

"Shhh! Get up, quick, I have to show you something!" It was James, wearing his glasses and his dressing-gown.

Sirius groaned and turned on his side, his back to James. "Want to show me something?" he repeated with disdain. "What for? You can keep your little secrets, I don't give a damn."

There was a pause. Then –

"You idiot."

Sirius ignored that.

"You stupid idiot. You actually thought I wasn't going to tell you anything? I sent you all those _glances_, and you didn't see anything!" James sounded truly vexed.

Sirius turned to face him. "Why didn't you say anything then?" he blurted out.

James raised an eyebrow at him. "Because I didn't want to say it in front of the others," he answered, as if that was obvious. "You're the only one I can trust with… this."

Sirius felt a tiny pang of guilt, quickly stifled by a wave of curiosity. "This?" he repeated avidly.

James lost his resentful expression and motioned Sirius to follow him. Sirius sprang out of the bed without further objection, and James led him to his bed, where he took from under the pillow the parcel he had roughly rewrapped. He then silently jerked his head toward the door of the dormitory. Sirius nodded and hastily pulled on his dressing-gown before following James out of the dormitory and into the Common Room.

"Wow," breathed Sirius, his eyes lighting up when he saw James' Cloak. He timidly reached out and brushed the Cloak with his fingers. James smiled and threw it over his shoulders.

"Want to take a walk?" he whispered.

Sirius smiled back and slid under the Cloak. After checking they were completely covered, they walked out of the Common Room and into the corridor. Excitement was running in their veins, sending waves of adrenaline coursing in their whole body as they explored the castle, unseen by drowsy portraits and ghosts drifting by. They climbed stairs, walked along corridors they had never seen, and saw many strange statues, paintings and tapestries.

"I'm sure every small thing hides something in this castle," whispered James. "You know, the tapestries, the statues… they can serve as marks, or even hide secret passageways…" He tentatively ran a finger over an old tapestry, and he thought he saw one of the small characters in faded colours turn its head toward him and wink.

Sirius tugged impatiently on his sleeve. "I'm freezing," he complained, "let's move."

They set off again, without knowing exactly where they were going. Predictably, they soon found themselves in a totally unknown corridor on the fourth floor, with absolutely no idea which part of the castle they were in. James took off the Cloak; they didn't need it, as they were completely alone.

"And now we're lost," stated Sirius.

"What's the problem? We have all the time to find our way back to the Common Room, it's only half past midnight."

Sirius half-shrugged. "I never said I had a problem," he said. "But wandering at night in the castle, when it's freezing like that and when nothing interesting happens, isn't exactly my idea of fun. Especially –"

"Oh, will you stop _moaning_?" said James, exasperated; "I'm trying to figure out where we are."

James furrowed his brows, his head turning right and left, trying to find a mark he would recognize. But the place was completely unfamiliar. Sighing, he leaned against a tapestry – to find out there was no wall behind it. With a thrill of horror he felt himself falling backward through the tapestry, and landed rather painfully on what felt like a staircase.

Of course the staircase was going down.

Which meant James only just had time to grab the banister to prevent himself from falling from step to step, down to the bottom of the stairs.

He got up, groaning in pain; the tapestry was pushed aside and Sirius' bemused face appeared.

"Are you all right?" he asked, clearly fighting back a laugh.

"I think I just heard two of my ribs cracking, but apart from that, I'm absolutely great," muttered James through gritted teeth.

Sirius smirked; his expression of boredom had totally vanished. "I must say you've got a way of spicing up even the dullest trip," he said lightly, joining James on the staircase.

As they went down the hidden staircase, James noticed the steps were quite taller than usual; actually the slope seemed steeper than necessary to reach the third floor.

"It looks as if it's taking us down two floors at a time, don't you think?" he said, voicing aloud his thoughts.

Sirius nodded. "It's a shortcut," he breathed, an excited glint in his eyes. "Good to know."

They were halfway down the staircase when James' leg suddenly sank through a step. Taken completely unawares, he swore loudly.

"What's the –" said Sirius, startled. Then, seeing that James was trapped up to the knee in a magical step, and obviously incapable of getting his leg out, he shook his head in disbelief.

"How do you do that?" he said in a puzzled voice. "How can one person attract that much trouble?"

James had to twist his neck to look at his best friend, which didn't improve his already rising temper.

"Sirius, I am this far –" James lifted a hand, showing his thumb and forefinger almost touching, "– from jinxing you. So, for your own sake, stop marvelling at my bad luck and get me out of this bloody trap!"

Sirius, shaking with silent laughter, seized James' outstretched hand and tugged on it. James let out another painful cry.

"Ouch! It doesn't work, you prat! If you go on like that you'll rip my leg off!"

"Oh, shut up or I'll let you rot there 'til the morning," said Sirius threateningly. He looked as if he was having the time of his life – which infuriated James even more.

"I have never seen someone so clumsy –"

"A bit rich, coming from you. I'm not the one who has his leg trapped in a step. Shut your mouth, I'm trying to concentrate."

"Wow, I can see why you're having trouble –"

James' sarcastic comment was drowned in a loud miaow. The two boys froze; they hadn't realised how loudly they were talking. They turned their heads toward the bottom of the stairs, and there, they saw the skinny, malevolent animal that had haunted the nightmares of generations of Hogwarts students – Filch's cat.

Filch was without doubt much closer than Sirius and James would have liked.

"Hurry!" whispered James frantically. Sirius put an arm under his shoulder blades and heaved him, his face reddening with the effort. James scrambled out of the trap and threw the Invisibility Cloak over Sirius and himself, as footsteps drew closer, accompanied by the wheezing breath of the caretaker.

Filch appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his bulging eyes looking right through James and Sirius.

There was a long silence. Sirius and James had stopped breathing; James could feel sweat running down his forehead, but he didn't dare wipe it.

"There is nobody there, my sweet," said Filch finally, turning to his cat. "Come on, we already searched that corridor…"

The caretaker walked away, his cat following reluctantly.

Sirius and James breathed again. James raised a trembling hand and pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"Let's get back to the Common Room," whispered Sirius, sounding quite shaken himself. "Filch might not be the only one patrolling the corridors… We need to plan our excursions, or we'll get caught, and McGonagall will have a fit. We've already spent more time in detention than in lessons…"

James nodded and they crept down the stairs. They knew the third floor well enough to find their way back.

They were miles away from the Common Room, but they didn't dare take off the Cloak to go faster; they didn't know where Filch had gone and were half-expecting him to burst through a passageway any minute.

They were climbing a staircase (James nervously feeling every step with his foot before stepping on it) when they heard urgent whispers coming from the floor they had just left. The whispers were drawing closer, and James' heart skipped a beat when he saw no other than Professor McGonagall herself, walking along the corridor towards the bottom of the stairs. She was talking in a low voice with a boy in his pyjamas, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Remus?" whispered Sirius incredulously.

James' jaw dropped. What on earth was Remus doing, out of bed at such an hour of the night? Remus, who was always so afraid of breaking school rules?

"Do you think he went to see where we had gone?" murmured Sirius.

"Hope not," James murmured back. "Because if he did, then it's our fault he's been caught."

The words were just out of his mouth when he realised they couldn't be true. Something was out of place in this picture: Professor McGonagall wasn't supposed to be talking in that concerned, gentle tone. She looked as if she was actually comforting him.

And Remus – quiet, shy, respectful Remus – looked utterly panicked. He was whispering frantically, almost trembling with fear, cutting across Professor McGonagall's soothing answers. Fascinated, Sirius and James completely forgot where they were, and where they were supposed to go; they both listened intently to the conversation.

"But Professor – I need to be able to go out, don't I?" said Remus, sounding more anxious than James had ever heard him. "If I can't go out, in the grounds… What will happen when – when it happens?"

"I told you, Remus," answered Professor McGonagall in the same concerned voice. "Professor Dumbledore will find a solution; you'll be able to transform in peace."

"How can I transform if I can't _go out_?" cried Remus, now looking slightly out of his mind.

"You might be able to go out," whispered Professor McGonagall, squeezing gently Remus' shoulder. "There are some spells on the mountains surrounding the grounds that can be activated for a short time; once activated, they will keep the storm out of the grounds, which will allow you to go out. That's not a very good idea, as the students are bound to notice if the storm abruptly ceases for a mere day; but if you really need to get out of the castle I'll ask professor Dumbledore, don't worry. Now, you really should go to bed. You need to rest, for that time of the month."

Remus bent his head, a defeated expression on his pale features. "Goodnight, Professor," he mumbled. "Sorry for waking you up."

"Don't be," answered Professor McGonagall with a small smile. "Never hesitate to wake me up. Goodnight, Remus."

Remus nodded and began to climb the stairs. Professor McGonagall, however, didn't move and after a few seconds she called out:

"Remus?"

Remus paused and turned around. "Yes, Professor?"

"What will you be telling Black, Potter and Pettigrew?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Sirius; James elbowed him in the ribs. This was definitely not the moment for getting caught…

"The usual, I guess," said Remus slowly.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "Be careful," she said very seriously. "I'm glad you found friends like them, but they're bound to become suspicious if you don't vary your excuses a bit. Potter and Black are not stupid, and Potter also happens to be one of the nosiest boys I know. Be very careful around your friends."

"Yes, Professor."

Professor McGonagall watched Remus anxiously as he resumed his climbing the stairs. His shoulders were slumped, as if he was bending under the weight of a heavy burden. Each step seemed to require a terrible effort.

Professor McGonagall sighed and finally turned to leave.

Sirius and James flattened themselves against the wall as Remus passed by them, then quietly set off after him. They followed him up to the corridor of the Fat Lady, always staying a few feet behind him; Remus looked lost in thought, walking mechanically, as if he had already covered the route between McGonagall's office and the Common Room a million times. They were halfway down the corridor when Sirius suddenly tripped. He managed to keep his balance by gripping James' arm, but Remus had started at the noise and turned around.

James and Sirius held their breath for the third time this night, as Remus stared right through them. He had gone even paler and his breathing had quickened. He began moving toward them, his motions swift and oddly fluid, his eyes opened to their fullest extent and his nostrils flared, as if he was trying to smell them. James stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the strange, dangerous aura that seemed to emanate from Remus. The boy standing in front of him didn't look like his friend Remus at all; yet there was no physical change…

Actually yes, there was… The Remus he knew had eyes of a greenish brown; but now his eyes were of a much lighter shade of brown… Almost _yellow_…

Suddenly a sharp voice echoed in the corridor, pulling James out of his trance.

"Well? I have absolutely no intention to stay awake all night, looking at your walking up and down my corridor, you know!"

Remus started again and turned away from Sirius and James to find the Fat Lady glaring at him. At once he recovered his usual shy and polite manners and hurried to the portrait. "Oh, yes, sorry. Blabbering Bumblebees."

oooooo

James had no idea how Sirius and he made it through the portrait. He found himself in the Common Room, slumped on the couch next to Sirius, his heart still thumping madly.

Sirius broke the silence, in a low, almost shocked voice.

"I don't know about you, but I've never been so scared in my entire life. When he got closer, I actually wished Filch had caught us." He gulped, staring wide-eyed at the empty fireplace as if he didn't really see it. "It was just Remus, yet I was scared out of my wits. I'll tell you, if the Fat Lady hadn't called out, I – I would've screamed or something." He ran a still-trembling hand in his hair. "Saved by the bell," he muttered, more to himself than to James.

James took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids as if he wanted to squash away the lingering image of the yellow eyes, still haunting him.

"He was scared as well," he finally said. "Did you see how pale he was? He was even more frightened than us."

There was another long silence.

"What does he transform into?" murmured Sirius at last. "And why does he need to get out of the castle for that?"

James felt feverish; incapable of staying still one more minute, he abruptly got up and started pacing.

"And why," said Sirius slowly, "why did McGonagall say he needed to rest _for this time of the month_?"

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and went on: "And she also said he needed to "vary his excuses"… So _that's_ what he was doing every time he said he went to visit his mum… He was going out of the castle to transform in peace… And he's doing it every month…"

James glanced through the window as he paced; it had stopped snowing and the stormy wind was now blowing away some of the clouds, revealing a patch of star-sparkled sky. James rested his forehead against the cool glass. Sirius got up and joined him.

"It all fits!" he murmured excitedly. The shock of experiencing such an irrational fear of his friend Remus was fading away, and Sirius' old curiosity was back.

But James couldn't get rid of the image of the fearful yellow eyes, looking right through him. "Why didn't he tell us anything?" he said, without tearing his eyes from the sky. "Why would he be afraid of telling us?"

Sirius lost his expression of excitement and the worried glint came back in his eyes. "I have no idea," he said. "If we knew what he's transforming into, that would help. What about spending lunchtime at the library tomorrow? We could look into diseases involving regular transformations…"

"_Monthly_ transformations," James pointed out, inwardly marvelling at the fact Sirius had just suggested to spend extra time in the library. "What diseases involving monthly transformations do we know?"

Sirius shrugged. "Apart from a werewolf's case, I can't think of any."

"And Remus is definitely not a werewolf."

"Course not!" agreed Sirius, laughing at this ludicrous idea. "Honestly, can you imagine nice and shy Remus suddenly sprouting fur and claws at full moon?"

James smiled, amused himself at the idea. He resumed his gazing at the sky. Most of the clouds had cleared now; hopefully the storm was over at last.

"Yet, it would also help to know which time of the month he usually transforms," he pointed out.

"Well, I'd say around… now," answered Sirius, shrugging again. "He was already quite different from his usual self, did you notice?"

"Yeah," murmured James, blinking in another attempt to get the yellow eyes out of his head. "Yeah, I did notice."

"Besides, he said it himself. He's transforming tomorrow night."

James nodded distractedly. He had such a beautiful view of the grounds that he'd forgotten what he and Sirius were talking about. The grounds were covered in a thick coat of untouched snow, glittering in the moonlight. There was an aura of peace and extreme purity about this sight which was mesmerizing him. He could stay there, looking at it, for hours… All this dazzling whiteness was slowly filling his brain, draining away every disturbing thought, like cold water running through his head… Yet he didn't usually like the moonlight; it was too cold, too ghostly, too –

The moonlight. The moon.

It was almost full.

James' heart stopped beating.

"Sirius," he breathed, "check the calendar."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at him but obeyed. "Here it is," he announced, taking down the calendar pinned to the notice board. "What d'you want me to check?"

"The moon… how will be the moon tomorrow night?"

Sirius looked at the calendar, frowning. "Tomorrow night?" he repeated.

Suddenly he blanched. Then he slowly looked up at James, who was as white as a ghost.

"Oh no…" was all he said, his eyes widening in horror.

James swallowed. "Full moon?"

Sirius nodded. Then he said in a trembling voice: "A bit too much to be a coincidence, isn't it? Transforming at full moon, going back covered in cuts and scratches, refusing to tell us…"

"And his eyes," croaked James, "His eyes… were yellow… like the eyes of a – "

He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it real, and he didn't want it to be real. Not Remus. Not his friend. Cold sweat started running down his forehead, and his hands were shaking so badly he had to clutch the window-ledge.

Sirius let the calendar fall to the floor. "He – he's a –"

But he couldn't say it either. He joined James by the window and they both stared at the sky outside, dread filling every particle of their bodies.

Upstairs, in the boys' dormitory, Remus couldn't take his eyes off the sky either. Silent tears were running down his cheeks; tears of fear and despair – like every month.

Peter was anxiously watching Remus from behind his curtains, not daring disturb him. It was not the first time he had found Remus crying at night.

Outside, the moon was serenely bathing the castle in its pure and ghostly light.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here is the Betaed chapter! For all those who have suffered unspeakable torture when they read the first version, full of mistakes...

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**Chapter 8: Of monsters, vicious trees, socks and metaphors**

The storm had ceased at last; the castle woke up the following morning buried under a thick layer of snow, dazzling in the sunlight. The conversations were considerably noisier and happier in the Great Hall, as plans of snowball fights were running from house to house.

The Gryffindors were the most excited. According to rumours that were spreading fast, the Slytherins were still furious for being beaten in a snowball fight by four first-year Gryffindors, and they were desperate for revenge. If the Gryffindors could sneak out of the castle during lunch, they would have the most wonderful fight in Hogwarts' history… and, hopefully, beat the Slytherins again…

Nobody seemed to have noticed that the four heroes of the first snowball fight weren't sharing this cheerful mood at all. They were gathered at one end of the long Gryffindor table, eating quietly. Remus looked even sicker than the day before. His skin was an unhealthy yellowish colour and there were dark circles under his eyes. He wasn't eating much; he also looked incredibly nervous, drumming his fingers on the table and jumping when spoken to unexpectedly.

James and Sirius were hardly in better shape. Their faces were pale and tired and they kept shooting furtive glances at each other, without actually talking. They looked tense and somewhat lost.

As for Peter, he was too intimidated by his friends' uncharacteristically grim moods to dare open his mouth, and he was eating silently without looking up.

Not a single word was exchanged during breakfast. When they had finished eating, all four of them got up and walked out of the Great Hall in the same tense silence.

James hadn't dared look at Remus in the eyes since they had woken up. He was scared of seeing those yellow eyes that had haunted his nightmares in the last part of the previous night again, after he and Sirius had finally left the Common Room to go to bed.

Those yellow eyes… what was bothering him so much about them?

_Let's see…_ said a sarcastic voice in his head._ One of your closest friends has wolves' eyes and is most likely a monster. Why on earth you are bothered, I wonder?_

It wasn't that. Well… yes, it was, but that was not the only reason… After all, those eyes had been haunting him long before he had realised Remus was a – well, that Remus had a – problem. He couldn't think of Remus as a monster. Remus was anything but a monster.

_A fur-covered beast that attacks every human being within its reach at full moon, seizing all opportunities to claw and bite passers-by… What do you call that? An innocent little rabbit?_

No. But he was a perfectly normal guy the rest of the month… He was one of the nicest boys James knew. Besides, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't control himself when he transformed. Or so James believed… He didn't know much about – about those sort of people…

He had to know more. He couldn't stay like this, uncertain, unknowing, and vaguely scared of this boy who was his friend. He would rather be sure, even if the whole truth was ten times worse than what he suspected.

James drew slightly closer to Sirius, who was walking rigid-backed, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed in front of him, and nudged him to pull him out of his thoughts. Sirius started – they were all extremely jumpy that morning – and, meeting James' eyes, nodded to say he was listening. James whispered in a very low voice:

"We should go at the library at break… Peter will keep _him_ busy…"

Sirius nodded again, a dark expression on his face. He hadn't been able to keep his mind off Remus either, and he was eager for more information as well.

Peter was watching his friends. James and Sirius seemed oddly distant, with him as well as with Remus, and he wondered what secret those two shared. Probably something to do with Remus, judging by the way they were unconsciously avoiding him – not meeting his eyes, not walking alongside him but slightly behind… Had they discovered Remus' secret? Was it so terrible they couldn't share it with Peter?

A shiver ran along Peter's spine as he observed Remus. He looked different; his actions were no longer measured and calm, they were swift and quick, and his eyes kept darting in different directions.

Remus didn't notice anything. He was staring at a spot in front of him, his eyes open to their fullest extent and unusually bright with fever and anxiety, and he kept wiping with the back of his hand the cold sweat running down his brow.

James and Sirius were in the library, frantically ruffling the pages of the old books they had taken down the shelves. Sirius' eyes finally fell on a paragraph about werewolves and he tapped James on the arm to attract his attention. Both boys bent upon the yellowing page and read:

_Most werewolves are very ordinary people; they become werewolves after another werewolf bites them during full moon. The exact effect of the moonlight on werewolves remains, to this day, unknown; it is believed that, when those effects are discovered, a cure may be found to mitigate them. All we currently know is that the full moon provokes an extremely strong physical and mental transformation, which begins one or two days before the night of the full transformation. The werewolf will acquire little by little several wolfish characteristics, such as sharper eyes and ears and a development of the sense of smell; the actual transformation will take place under the influence of the moonlight. This influence is one of the most powerful known in the wizarding world: it can cause the most peaceful person to turn into a bloodthirsty monster._

_When transformed, the werewolf will seek any human being it can harm. It's not a danger to animals or Animagi, but it can sense human presence with a terrifying acuity. Then, it will devote the whole night to looking for human beings to bite, and in doing so, will turn them into werewolves as well. The urge to bite and harm is so powerful that, if it can't bite anyone by the end of the night, it can be driven to bite itself. Such bites cannot worsen the curse already upon the werewolf, but they can cause severe injuries that it still suffers from at the end of the transformation._

_Being a werewolf is often said to be the most terrible curse existing in the wizarding world. A werewolf, at full moon, no longer controls its own actions. It would bite and kill its best friend, its own children if given the chance. We count many cases of suicide among the werewolf population, suicides of werewolves who wake up at the end of the night to find out they have bitten the ones they care for the most; or who can't stand being treated as pariahs in the wizard society any more. _

James gulped. Now he had realised what had been bothering him so much about the yellow eyes… It was their expression, a mixture of terrible sadness, fear, and despair. Remus seemed so placid, so quiet, so content with so little… And every month he had to go through the same nightmare, all the while dreading his friends would find out and treat him like a – a _pariah_, as the textbook said.

How could he be so kind, so friendly, so normal with them? How could he like being with them, how could he not hate them for being normal, untouched by the curse that would mark him for his entire life?

James felt a very painful lump in his throat. Remus probably had to summon all his courage every morning, to force himself to get up, and have lessons, and try to get James and Sirius out of trouble. How pointless all those things – those things which were all a big part of James' life – suddenly felt…

Sirius was even paler than before and was staring, horror-struck, at the book open in front of them.

"Do you realise," he said hoarsely, "that he has been attacked by a werewolf?"

James looked at him in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that," he said slowly.

"I haven't been able to think of anything else," murmured Sirius, still staring at the book. "It must've been before he even came to Hogwarts… Maybe he was as small as my little brother… He must've seen the – the huge beast with its teeth bared – running towards him… He must've tried to run away; must have heard the beat growling behind him. And then he must have been caught… and bitten."

Sirius swallowed hard.

"Then he would have woken up, and his parents would have come in and said, 'We're sorry Remus, but you're cursed for the rest of your life'." His voice shook and died.

"What are we going to do?" whispered James. "Tell him we know?"

Sirius slid both hands into his hair and gripped it tightly. "He doesn't want us to know," he said, his voice trembling. "He's been hiding it from us… from the very beginning…"

"I'm not sorry I found out," said James brusquely. "He was afraid we would reject him if we ever found out… But now we know, we'll be able to help him! I don't know how," he added reluctantly, "but we have to try. We can't let him down."

Sirius snorted, looking incredulously at James. "Course we can't," he said, sounding utterly revolted. "And come to think of it, does he really think we're gonna push him away, just because he was bitten by some guy who didn't have a clue what he was doing? The idiot! Doesn't he trust us? Why didn't he tell us?"

"He must've thought he couldn't afford the risk," answered James, rubbing his forehead distractedly with his right hand. "Remember when he was avoiding us? He didn't want to make friends and then lose them, I guess…"

They fell silent. James was thinking about tonight, and he wondered where Remus went to transform. Suddenly he felt very curious about that. Had Dumbledore thought of a place, in the grounds, where Remus could transform without endangering anybody? Where could that be? The Forbidden Forest? James shivered at this idea; Remus, spending all night in the dark Forest…

Sirius' voice seemed to be coming from very far away when he spoke again:

"Should we tell Peter?" He sounded most unconvinced.

James thought about it for a moment. "He cares about Remus," he said at last, slowly and choosing his words carefully. "And he's got enough problems himself to know how it feels, not to be normal…"

"Yeah, but he's not that brave, is he?" said Sirius. "He could be scared of Remus and refuse to talk to him."

James shrugged. "I'm sure he wouldn't do that. I think the four of us being friends means almost as much to him as it does to Remus."

"Yes, maybe," agreed Sirius reluctantly. "But it's not our secret. It's Remus'. Remus should decide if he wants Peter to know, not us."

James nodded. "Yes… you're right." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "We should put all those back on their shelves," he muttered wearily with a vague gesture in the books' direction. "And then go to lunch… The others will wonder where we've been."

They both got up and gathered the books.

Remus was pacing relentlessly in the dormitory. He couldn't keep still; he was filled with an energy that didn't belong to him, but to the monster which was slowly awakening inside him. This month had been the worst ever. He had spent the last few days fearing he may not be able to go out for his transformation because of the storm, and the anxiety had aggrieved his symptoms. He had even less control over himself than usual; once or twice he had caught himself longing after the taste of blood – the desire of blood had been so violent he had ended up biting his own hand.

He had not bitten himself hard enough to bleed, actually he had withdrawn his hand almost immediately when he had realised what he was doing. He had felt even more scared by this absurd gesture – and his fright was feeding the monster inside him. He had to learn to force himself to calm down; his father had told him so. The monster grew stronger when Remus was angry or scared, because it was feeding on those violent emotions. But it was hard… so hard…

"Too hard," moaned Remus, collapsing on his bed and burying his face in his hands. He began to shake violently with silent sobs, tears pouring down his cheeks. It was unfair; it was so unfair he had to go through the same torture every month. Why couldn't he just be normal? What crime had he committed, to be punished by such a curse?

He felt anger rising inside his chest once more. He wanted to get up, roar with fury and destroy everything inside the castle. He wanted to catch all the normal, happy, oblivious people around him, and bite them, claw them to death, drink their blood and listen to their screams of pain and fear…

He banged his head on the bedpost, as hard as he could. The monster was awake now, it was inspiring all those gruesome thoughts inside his head. It was nearly time…

The watch on Remus' wrist rang. It was time. Remus rose, feeling the energy boiling inside him. In a few quick, efficient actions, he took off his school uniform and threw some old clothes on his back. He then wrapped himself in a long black cloak and resolutely walked out of the dormitory. Now the time had come, his mind was clear.

He met James, Sirius and Peter in the Common Room, playing a game of Exploding Snap.

"Hey guys, just so you know… My Mum's still not recovered, so I'm going to visit her again." _No time to find a better excuse._ "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

They said "See you" without even looking up and he walked away, relieved they hadn't asked awkward questions.

He met Madam Pomfrey in the Entrance Hall, as per usual. She took him by the shoulder and didn't let go as they set off, making their way through the untouched snow. She always did that; she always put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently from time to time, as if she was resisting the urge to hug him. He was immensely grateful for it.

James, Sirius and Peter had gone to bed as soon as Remus had left. The game of Exploding Snap had been an excuse to stay in the Common Room until he was gone, so that they could see him before – before it happened. Sirius and James were both feeling the need to be alone with their own thoughts, so they had gone straight to bed, without talking, and had put the candles out immediately.

Sirius was turning from one side to another, unable to find a comfortable position. The idea of Remus transforming into a bloodthirsty beast was making him positively sick. Why Remus, of all people? Couldn't it be someone less kind, less friendly?… Why Remus, when nasty nuisances like Snivellus are running free?

Sirius' head was aching from unanswered questions and tiredness. After all, he hadn't slept much the previous night, and God knows how much he needed to sleep to be on form.

He slowly sank into an uneasy sleep, where he was seeing a small child, screaming with fear as he was hunted by a beast whose fangs were dripping with blood…

James was lying on his back in his bed, fully awake. He was thinking of ways to tell Remus they knew about his – his condition, and that his secret was safe with them. He was also wondering where Remus was going. Where could it be safe for a – for someone like him to transform? Dumbledore must have made special arrangements for him… Knowing what a powerful wizard the Headmaster was, James was burning to know what he had created to ensure Remus' safety.

James' curiosity, added to his genuine concern for Remus, was rapidly turning this question into an obsession. He needed to know. He had to see. He wouldn't be able to sleep unless he saw.

And this time, he would go alone.

Pushing his sheets away from him abruptly, James rummaged under the pillow to find his Invisibility Cloak. He threw it over his shoulders and walked out of the dormitory on tiptoes, listening to the regular breathing of Sirius, Peter and Anthony. None of them stirred.

He quickly walked down the stairs, then crossed the Common Room at top speed. Remus had left at least an hour ago, and he would have to follow his footprints in the snow. Providing they hadn't been magically erased…

He ran along the corridors, and down the stairs to the Entrance Hall; the huge oak doors were slightly open and he was able to slip through the gap. He was filled with a mixture of contradicting emotions – excitement, curiosity, fear – which made his pulse quicken; his blood was running fast and pounding into his head as he ran, following the path created in the snow by two sets of feet.

He reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and slowed down. The sun was setting and the shadows of the huge trees were growing. The Forest itself was already dark and ominous.

_If I've got to go in there, I'm going back to my dormitory_, thought James.

But the footprints didn't enter the Forest. They were going to the very bottom of the trunk of a strange tree, planted at the edge of the Forest.

James recognized this tree: it was the Whomping Willow. It would slash the air with its heavy branches when somebody tried to approach its trunk, and most of the time it would knock off their feet whoever had gotten too close and send them crashing a few feet away. Since a boy named Davey Gudgeon had almost lost an eye, the students were forbidden to come close to the Willow.

Yet Remus must have reached the trunk and then – vanished. There were no footprints retreating from the Willow. The two people who had walked up to it seemed to have vanished.

James had finally come to a dead end. He paused, staring helplessly at the tree, and it was then he realised he was still in his pyjamas. In his haste, he had just put on his dressing-gown and his slippers – and the cold was piercing. His pyjamas were wet to the knee.

Just as James was thinking about going back to the dormitory, a head suddenly emerged from a hole between two roots. James froze, his eyes widening in shock, instantly forgetting about how uncomfortable he was. He soon realised the head belonged to Madam Pomfrey; she reached out and pressed a knot on one root, before pulling herself out of the hole and walking away from the tree. Not a single twig moved.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey was out of reach, the Willow started whipping the air again with its branches. Madam Pomfrey paused, frowning, as she noticed the footprints in the snow. James felt as if an icy hand was clutching his insides: she was going to spot his own footprints, and find him…

But Madam Pomfrey merely took out her wand and waved it, muttering an incantation, and the footprints disappeared, leaving the snow as pure and smooth as if nobody had touched it. She then set off toward the castle, erasing her footprints as she went.

James took a deep breath. Now he had to find a way to get into that hole. He spotted the knot that he had to press; the problem was how was he going to reach it? He needed a stick, or something…

But he couldn't see any sticks on the ground around him. James took a few tentative steps toward the Whomping Willow, wondering if the tree would sense his presence. Maybe the Cloak would hide him from –

A branch caught him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and sent him flying backwards. He landed a few feet from there, thankfully cushioned by the snow. Cursing under his breath, he got to his feet and considered the tree, which was waving its branches at him furiously. He had to find something to hit the knot. But if he had to dig into the snow…

He suddenly wheeled around. His fall had created a crater in the snow, revealing a ground covered in dead wood and leaves. Swooping down, James picked up a dead twig and aimed it at the knot on the root.

Who had told him he had a good aim, again?

The twig hit the root, but it was so light it cleanly snapped in two without hitting the knot itself. James was becoming reckless; rummaging in the snow, he found a bigger bit of wood he tossed at the tree. A flinging branch caught it in mid-air and sent it flying back to him. James dodged it and started looking for heavier and bigger projectiles.

It lasted a long time. James had taken off the Invisibility Cloak, which slowed him down, and was digging in the snow with his bare hands. He had almost forgotten why he had come here in the first place, and he didn't consider for a second the idea of giving up. This was between the tree and him.

At last he grew tired of that game and cursed furiously, which didn't seem to bother the Whomping Willow in the slightest. James was getting more and more irritated. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at the tree's trunk.

Stupidly, he cast a Transfiguration spell – totally unlikely to work on a tree, but it was the last he had practiced and he had reflexively said the incantation.

The spell rebounded on the trunk, leaving a sort of bruise on the bark. James lifted an eyebrow, surprised by the effect his spell had had on the tree. Maybe it was a way to –

His musings were interrupted when the whole scene was suddenly bathed in a silvery light. The moon had just come out from behind a cloud, perfectly round, drifting serenely in the black sky.

James' stomach clenched. _You friend Remus is living a nightmare, and you're having fun with a _tree

He quickly pointed his wand at the knot on the root and muttered the incantation. A ray of light shot from the tip of his wand and hit the knot.

The tree froze.

_YES!_

Grabbing the Invisibility Cloak, James hurried forward and dived head first into the hole between the roots.

He found himself in an underground passageway, narrow and dark, which stretched far in front of him and went out of sight. He set off, putting the Cloak back on as an extra precaution.

He walked for a long time – an hour at least. The air was still and cold and his footsteps echoed loudly on the hard floor. He had still his wand in his hand and was gripping it tightly, his heart leaping every time the passageway took a bend. But nothing was coming, absolutely nothing… All he could hear were his own footsteps and the frantic pounding of his heart against his ribs. A part of him was screaming that this was mad – that he should be going back to his dormitory, instead of following a monster's footsteps…

Remus isn't a monster.

_He's a werewolf. What's more, a werewolf in the middle of his transformation. You're going to get killed, or worse, bitten…_

He must be locked up somewhere. I'll stay outside.

_Then what's the point of getting there? _

James' pace quickened, and he put a hand to his ribs where he could sense the beginning of a sharp stitch. He thought he heard something. A kind of growl…

_GO BACK! NOW!_

But James no longer had control over himself; his legs seemed to be moving of their own accord. He had broken into a run, his breaths becoming raw pants, his ears strained to catch any sound coming from the end of the passageway.

The tunnel was rising now. The end was close. He ran, his head occasionally brushing against the very low ceiling, without taking his eyes off his goal. The growling was louder, he could vaguely hear it over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

The tunnel abruptly twisted, and James almost ran straight into the stony wall. The tunnel ended in a cul-de-sac. The growling now sounded very close, yet he couldn't see any openings. Bewildered, he tentatively pressed some of the stones in the solid wall, but nothing moved. Frustration made him forget where he was; he abruptly straightened up.

His head came in violent contact with a hard and smooth surface. Little stars popped in front of his eyes and he let out a gasp of pain. The growling stopped.

Rubbing his abused head, James lifted one hand and felt a wooden trapdoor inserted in the stone ceiling. He made to push it upwards, but then he heard a blood-curling roar and _something_ above his head began to pound fiercely at the trapdoor. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he leaped backward, his heart thumping madly, his mouth open in a silent scream. The werewolf had sensed him, he was trying to break the trapdoor to reach him, and attack him, and bite him. The thrashing became more forceful, more urgent. He was getting impatient.

James' legs, once more, moved on their own accord. Before he knew it, he was running as hard as he could in the opposite direction.

He stopped only when the werewolf's roars had died in the distance. He leaned against the wall, fighting to catch his breath, a hand on the stitch in his side. It felt like a knife planted between his ribs.

He let himself slide down the wall. Sitting on the cold hard ground, he took off his glasses and buried his face in his knees. He had trouble controlling his convulsively trembling body. He had never been so scared in his life.

He eventually got up, still shaking all over, and decided to go back to the dormitory. He had been a fool to come here in the first place. The further he was from the werewolf, the better.

He hadn't taken three steps towards the exit when he realised he didn't have his Cloak with him.

He must have lost it near the trapdoor.

_No, no, don't go back! It's not worth it. You'll come and get it tomorrow. Right now there's a MONSTER roaring and thumping near your Cloak._

James hesitated for ten seconds.

"Remus is not a monster," he said aloud. Then he wheeled about and headed for Remus' hiding place once more.

He was finding it difficult to walk on; when he heard again the low, ominous growling, he almost gave up. He had to remind himself constantly that the werewolf was his friend Remus, and to keep walking. When he finally reached the end of the passageway, he bent down and felt around for his Cloak. He found it lying in a corner; he grabbed it and threw it over his shoulders. It was so dark he couldn't see his own hand outstretched in front of him, but he felt safer invisible.

The werewolf was still growling and pacing relentlessly. His growling slowly rose to a furious bark, and James heard the thrashing sounds again. It sounded as if the werewolf was throwing heavy objects on the floor, then hammering them until they shattered. The growling was suddenly muffled, as if the werewolf had sunk his teeth into something. At this thought, a cold shiver ran across James' spine.

Then he heard a terrible howl of pain, and a sentence he had read in the library book suddenly popped into his mind.

…_If it can't bite anyone by the end of the night, it can be driven to bite itself…_

The sentence was ringing in his ears as if someone had just yelled it; he stayed rooted to the spot, horror-struck at the idea of Remus biting himself. He sank down into a sitting position, his head raised to look at the trapdoor beyond which Remus was sinking his fangs into his own flesh. James felt positively sick.

Remus' howls of pain didn't die away. He would ferociously break any object within his reach for a few minutes, before biting himself once more. James had no idea how long he stayed there, listening to every scream that felt like an icy knife plunging into his heart. He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming as well. He once raised a trembling hand to wipe his sweaty face, and felt tears on his cheeks. He hadn't even realised he was crying.

The watch on James' wrist indicated that it was quarter to seven when the werewolf started shrieking like James had never heard him before, sounding as if he was being tortured. Unable to stand this any longer, James clasped his hands over his ears, but the shrieking was so loud he couldn't block it out. James couldn't take it anymore, he wanted it to end, he wanted it to be over…

And suddenly it was over. James slowly removed his hands and listened intently to the sounds coming from beyond the trapdoor.

He could hear someone panting, and crying softly. A boy.

Remus' transformation had ended had last.

He scrambled to his feet when he heard Remus' footsteps coming closer. The trapdoor opened and Remus slid through the opening. Landing on the ground, he murmured in a quavering voice: "Lumos", and the tip of his wand ignited.

He looked terrible. There was a deep gash in his left cheek and his forearms bore bleeding bites. His face was covered in a mixture of sweat, tears, blood and filth. He was trembling all over and sniffing loudly.

James didn't even pause to think. Throwing the Cloak aside, he yelled:

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Remus started and his eyes widened when he saw James. "How – how did you get there?" he asked, his voice much more high-pitched than usual.

James was breathing hard. Furiously wiping the tears on his face with his sleeve, he barked:

"I followed you, of course, what d'you think? Remus, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?"

There was a ringing silence. Remus was surprised to realise he wasn't feeling anything. His worst fear was confirmed, James was going to reject him like the monster he was, and he was numb, empty. He sighed.

"Well, because I knew you would react like that," he said heavily.

"Like what?" roared James. "LIKE WHAT, EXACTLY?"

Remus' jaw dropped at this question; something was not going as he had predicted. Then he noticed James' eyes were red and puffy, his pyjamas were dirty and he was shaking badly. He looked as if he had spent the whole night crying on the ground. Remus' bewilderment increased.

"How long have you been there?" he asked slowly, not quite believing what he was seeing.

James wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his breathing oddly quick. "Just a few… hours," he answered in a choked voice. He swallowed hard. "Doesn't matter. I wanted to know where you went to transform, so I followed your footprints in the snow…"

"You… you…" Remus' voice was hoarse and strained. "You already knew?"

James nodded. "Sirius and I found out last night," he said heavily.

He looked away from Remus and ran a weary hand through his hair. Remus had never seen him so helpless, and suddenly he felt concerned. It was unsettling, and even scary, to see bold and joyful James Potter act like a lost child.

"You all right?" he asked timidly.

James started and stared at him. "You're asking me if I am all right?" he whispered disbelievingly. He slowly straightened up, as much as the low tunnel allowed him to, and took a few steps towards Remus.

Remus' heart stopped beating and he felt cold sweat dripping on his forehead. Now James had recovered from the shock. Now he was going to yell at him, to throw him back into his former loneliness. Remus braced himself for the inevitable outburst.

"I am not all right, Remus!" hissed James. "How am I supposed to be all right, when I just realised one of my friends is – is suffering – is _hurting himself_ – every month?" he gulped, trying to steady his breath to prevent his voice from quivering. "And I can't do anything to help you! How am I supposed to handle that?"

Remus stared blankly at him, still waiting for his condemnation. Then James' words sank in and for the second time his mouth fell open. "You – you want to help me?" he managed to blurt out.

James stared at him for a few seconds. "I'm not letting you down, if that's what you mean," he said simply.

Remus closed his eyes. "Oh my God," he murmured in a very low voice, as he leaned against the wall. The icy fear he had felt in inside seemed to dissolve and a warm feeling spread from his heart to the very tips of his limbs. He had been so scared at the idea of finding himself alone again. But that was not going to happen… James knew, but James was still his friend…

Remus was now breathing more quickly as he tried to control the violent emotions boiling in his head. James, who had been watching him anxiously, broke the silence.

"Erm… You're not going to – to do something awkward like – like burst into tears, are you?" he asked nervously. "'Cause I'm really not good at handling those sort of situations."

Remus smiled to reassure him, not trusting himself to speak. If he opened his mouth, he would probably start shouting with joy.

James smiled back. "Let's get back to the dormitory then," he offered.

They set off towards the castle, both covered with James' Cloak. They didn't talk as they went, but Remus found himself grinning from one ear to the other. He felt so happy that he longed to throw the Cloak aside and run all the way up to the castle, just to let out some of his emotions.

"Amazing Cloak," commented Remus once they were out of the tunnel. "Where did you get it?"

"I'll tell you once we've found the others," answered James. "Peter doesn't know about it either, and I don't like repeating things. This way he'll get all the news at the same time. Hope that won't kill him," he added, half-serious, half-joking.

Remus stayed silent for a moment. "You think Peter and Sirius will still want me as a friend as well?" he finally murmured hesitantly.

"I'm sure about Sirius. When we found out, the only thing he thought about was that you had been attacked by a werewolf. He wants to help, too. Peter has no idea what's going on, but he cares for you too, you know. You should trust them."

They fell silent until they reached the Common Room. They were surprised to find Sirius there, sprawled in an armchair with his mouth open as he snored. James took off the Cloak and shook him awake.

"Wha –" he started groggily, but then his eyes widened and he jumped up, startling James. "There you are!" he exclaimed, sounding half-relieved half-infuriated. "I was worried sick about you, you twit! Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked James accusatorily.

"Sirius," began Remus. Sirius started again and spotted him for the first time, standing at a few feet from James, covered in blood. He winced at the sight of the gruesome wounds on Remus' forearms.

"Oh, erm, Remus… Are you –" he hesitated. Remus held his breath.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked timidly.

_Sirius Black, timid? _

Remus was lost for words. He had been wrong all along. He had misjudged them both…

Behind Sirius' back, James had a smirk that plainly meant: "I told you so."

"Peter?"

A mumble answered him from under the sheets and Peter's head emerged.

"Oh, hello Remus. Is it that late?" he yawned.

"No, it's Saturday, no lessons today."

"Oh, good." Peter scratched his head, yawning again, then he spotted the bandages around Remus' forearms. "What happened to you?" he asked curiously.

"I bit myself."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Y'know, if you're that hungry, you can ask me for food anytime you want. I always have sweets and things in my trunk."

Remus smiled at Peter's everlasting and clumsy helpfulness.

"I'm a werewolf, actually."

Peter's eyebrows rose even higher.

"That's why you keep staring at the moon and disappearing from time to time?"

"Well, yes."

"Oh. Well, that's good to know. Can you lend me socks? I've run out."

Remus blinked. "That's all the effect it has on you?" he asked hesitantly.

Peter smiled warmly at him. "Oh, come on, Remus. My Mum's got a spider on her ceiling – sorry, I meant a bat in her belfry. And a huge one, I can tell you. Everybody has their own problems."

"But it's not your fault if your Mum is… ill."

"Because it's your fault if you are… ill?" asked Peter, mimicking Remus.

Remus fell silent. Peter watched him as he stared vaguely into space, lost in thoughts, and as a smile gradually lit up his tired and filthy face. Peter waited patiently for a few seconds before interrupting his friend's musings.

"So, what about those socks?"

Professor Dumbledore was looking out the window of his office, smiling at the sight that met his eyes. Four first-year Gryffindors were having fun in the snow, running and throwing snowballs at each other, playing with the great condor that had arrived at Hogwarts the day before. Their laughter could be heard even at this distance. Dumbledore recognized James Potter's voice, it was the clearest and the most excited one. Sometimes his voice would be covered by Sirius Black's laughter, deeper and louder, and Peter Pettigrew's small squeaks could also be distinguished from time to time.

But what was the most important thing in Dumbledore's opinion was the fourth voice. Remus Lupin's voice was usually the most discreet in the chorus of the four friends, but now he could clearly be heard laughing and cheering with the others. He seemed incredibly happy for a boy who was suffering from one of the most dreaded curses in the wizarding world, especially when he knew his night of transformation had only just ended.

Professor McGonagall joined him at the window as James Potter started running towards the lake, laughing at his friends' attempts to catch up, his condor hovering lazily a few feet above him. Remus Lupin was gripping Sirius' shirt to prevent him from winning the race, and Peter was panting just behind him.

"I am concerned about Lupin," said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four boys. "I'm surprised Potter and Black haven't already found out about his condition. When they do, it'll be a terrible shock for him. He needs his friends. I shudder to think of what may become of him alone…"

"I trust his friends," answered Dumbledore softly. "When they find out, if they haven't already, I'm sure they won't reject Remus."

There was a short silence.

"And, if I may ask, what makes you think so?" asked McGonagall in a respectful, yet doubtful tone.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Pure intuition. Do you like music, Minerva?" he asked amiably.

"Wha- Oh, I don't have a passion for it, but I do like it," answered McGonagall, taken aback by this strange question.

"Let's say –" said Dumbledore lightly, "– that there are some tunes that cannot be played by a sole musician. Some people will have a crowd of friends gathered around them, yet they will play as soloists. Their "friends" are only there to fill the blanks."

Dumbledore leaned forwards, his elbows resting on the window ledge, and he joined the tips of his long fingers.

"Now I have the feeling –" he went on, "– that Remus Lupin's life is not the score of a soloist. Just like you so rightly said, he needs his friends. I strongly suspect his particular tune will be played by four musicians…"

Professor McGonagall didn't like metaphors very much; she was used to getting straight to the point. But Dumbledore didn't have to resort to woolly images to convince her. If he had an intuition, that was enough for her. She excused herself and left Dumbledore gazing at the first-years.

The Headmaster spoke quietly in the empty office.

"Now I am extremely curious to see what sort of piece the four of you are going to play," he murmured, without taking his eyes off the four boys and their condor. "A Symphony for Quartet... probably."

**

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A/N: End of the first part of Symphony for Quartet. And end of the weekly updates.**

A/N2 (the last, I promise): I won't do a proper sequel; I'll continue posting chapters for this story, a few chapters per year. I already have ideas for the following chapters, even if I won't write anything before quite a long time. Keep reviewing in the meantime, though! A special thanks to my regular reviewers, they'll recognize themselves...


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Long time no see! I'm done with my exams--since last week--and I've been hired as a nurse for two small children so I can't type day and nightlike I'd love to, but I still managed to write--this. First chapter of Year Two! I was so excited because I had finished it, that I didn't wait for my Beta to send it back to me. So I'll give you the "clumsy" chapter... and when the betaed one comes, I'll replace it.**

**Enjoy**

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Chapter Nine: Of fantastic stories, scales and reunion**

A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of the great oak towering over a small white house, lost in acres of smooth, square fields. The full moon was fading in the west, while a soft pink glow illuminated the dark-blue sky on the horizon; already a few early birds were awakening, and they tentatively threw one or two high-pitched notes in the still air, as if afraid of disturbing the sleepy silence laying over the white house.

A window opened on the first floor; the flaps hit the wall with a sharp clatter, frightening a couple of birds that flew off the oak, chirping indignantly. The man who had pushed the window open barely looked up when the birds flew right under his nose; he looked tired and tense as he leant forward, his hands clutching the windowsill. He stayed motionless for a few minutes, gazing at the full moon that had now almost entirely faded in the paling sky, with an expression close to hatred. Then he abruptly withdrew from the window, looking as though he had finally come to a decision.

He went round a large bed that took up most of the small room and walked to the wardrobe facing the window; opening the door, he grabbed an old, fluffy dressing gown and slipped it on his pyjamas. With a last glance at the empty bed, he snatched a thin wooden wand from the bedside table and strode out of the room.

He swiftly walked down the narrow and dark staircase leading to the kitchen, involuntarily tensing whenever a step creaked under his foot. He had to stop halfway down the stairs, and forced himself to take deep, steady breaths. Even after seven years, he couldn't get used to those nights – those sleepless nights when he waited for the morning, his anxiety growing every minute as the full moon lazily drifted in the black sky and seemed to sneer at his grief.

The kitchen was already bathed in the dull, white light of the dawn. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds before his eyes landed on a human form, crouching on the reddish tiles next to a wooden trapdoor painted in the same reddish colour so as to merge in the floor. The silhouette was shaking with sobs.

"Annie…"

At the sound of his voice, his wife's head jerked upwards and he saw the thin trails on her cheeks that were dried tears. A lump came in his throat and he felt his own eyes watering. The sight of Annie, helplessly waiting by the trapdoor, crying until she had no tears left and then shaking with dry, painful sobs, was heart wrenching. He joined her in a few quick strides and knelt beside her.

"Annie, you – you shouldn't wait here, it won't do any good… I was worried when I came back to the bedroom to find the bed empty…"

She gulped in an attempt to calm herself and wiped her cheeks with shaking hands.

"Do you really expect me to stay in bed when Remus is – is down there?" Her voice was quavering and she choked on the last words. "Do you think I'd be able to sleep or read… when my son is suffering all night because of that monster…?"

"I know, Annie," said her husband automatically, but he felt his stomach clenching at her words. He had never gotten rid of the terrible guilt that had dwelled in him since that fateful night, seven years ago. The attack on Remus had been his punishment for offending the monster – Annie never called him otherwise, and deep down he agreed with her – and thus it was entirely his fault if his quiet and shy son had to go through a terrifying nightmare once a month.

"The moon is fading," he went on in a hoarse voice. "The transformation should be over soon."

Annie merely nodded, and they both fell silent. The light was stronger now, and he could see the lines marking Annie's skin at the corner of her eyes. Her light-brown hair was tangled and messy, and he knew she had been running her hands through it and twisting strands of it between her fingers all night. He reached for her and softly stroked her cheek, in a timid gesture. She looked up at him and addressed him a watery smile.

"Stop thinking you're guilty," she said softly, sounding much calmer. "That's not true."

He shook his head.

"If I hadn't –"

"Edward, we've been through this last month," said Annie wearily, cutting across him. "And the month before, and the month before that one. You couldn't let that monster do whatever he wanted. You had no choice."

Edward Lupin fell silent again; he knew he wouldn't win an argument against Annie. He gazed in admiration at his wife, wondering how one could show so much courage. She was a Muggle, a little scared by the magical world, yet she had stayed with him when he had told her what he was; most importantly, she had stayed with him when he had had to announce her that their son was marked by the most horrible curse existing in the magical world. He remembered with painful accuracy the look on her face when he had said the word "werewolf". Poor Annie, who had always been so scared as a little girl by fantastic stories… ghost stories, dragon stories and… werewolf stories…

Remus' first transformation had been trying – at the very least – for the three of them. The small five-year-old had stood in the middle of his bedroom, shock and fear written all across his small, angelic face while he watched them closing his door. Tears were rapidly swelling in his yellow eyes as he visibly struggled to understand why his parents were abandoning him. Then the lock had clicked and they had waited in the corridor.

At first Remus had been sniffing and crying feebly, out of fear and anxiety; the poor child couldn't stand to be left alone since he had been attacked and bitten by the werewolf. Then the full moon had risen.

The screams… The yells of pain they had heard behind the locked door… The repeated cry of "Mum!" between their baby's painful sobs… Annie's crying, her pleading him to let her in the bedroom so that she could comfort her little boy… And then the screams had turned to howling and fierce snarling, and they had heard thumping and ripping noises as Remus attacked the furniture of his bedroom, until Annie started to scream as well, to grip her hair in both hands and to yell she couldn't take it anymore.

Edward had been a coward then. He had used a Silencing Charm on the door, successfully muffling Remus' screams. He had taken Annie to their bedroom and given her a potion so that she would sleep for a few hours, and he had locked himself up in his study and paced the whole night there.

He hadn't let Annie see Remus the following morning, and he realised he had done the right thing when he opened the bedroom door. The curtains and the sheets were in tatters, most of the furniture – that sort of furniture made of white wood, decorated with small carvings, that are usually found in a child's room – was broken, and his little boy was lying on the carpet, crying and covered in hideous scratches and bites. He had needed a two-day-long stay at St Mungo's to recover from his injuries.

After two years, Remus had started transforming in the cellar. Edward had put cushioning spells on the walls and floor, so that Remus could only bounce off them without hurting himself, and they had filled the room with cushions. The cushions were ripped open and feathers were flying everywhere in the morning, but at least the damage was lessened. If only they could find a way to prevent him from biting himself…

Edward's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a small bell, hanging off the wall just above the trapdoor. Annie jumped and straightened up, hastily arranging her tousled hair, while Edward seized the heavy iron ring fixed to the trapdoor and pulled it upwards with a grunt.

The trapdoor swung open, and two small hands gripped the edge of the square hole in the floor. Next second a boy around twelve, shaking and covered in bleeding cuts, was hauled out of the cellar by his father.

* * *

Remus lay on his back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. The sharp pain in his arms and legs where he had bitten himself was subsiding, thanks to the potion his father had brewed for him. He sighed heavily. His mum had been crying again. She had tried to hide it, but her eyes were still red and puffy when he had come out of the trapdoor, and she was shaking all over. It always hurt him to see her like that; the aftermaths of his transformations had been considerably more enjoyable at Hogwarts, with James, Sirius and Peter. 

His eyes abruptly snapped wide open. How did he dare think that? His parents loved him more than anybody in the world; they had always been there to comfort him, to tell him it would be all right… They had born the weight of his curse with him, since the very beginning. He couldn't decently think he'd rather be with his friends now, rather than with them.

And yet… The very first day James had found out about his condition, he had cried a lot, but after that he had done his best to make Remus forget about the nasty night he had spent in the Shrieking Shack. Remus smiled to himself as he remembered the races in the snow, the fights and the dangerous games… Once Sirius had decided to use McGonagall, James' condor, as a parachute: he had jumped off a window of the Owlery, clutching the claws in both hands, and the condor had barely managed to slow down the tremendous fall. Sirius had laughed until he got a stitch in the ribs. Then it had been James' turn; he was lighter than Sirius so the condor was able to carry him further, but it understandably grew tired of the game and dropped James in the cold lake.

Remus laughed aloud at the memory of the look on James' face when he had stood up, soaked to the bones and covered in mud up to the knees. Sirius had been imprudent enough to venture a smart comment, and James had lost no time in throwing at him a handful of mud; just as Professor McGonagall had dashed out of the castle, alarmed by the sight of a condor hovering in front of her window with a student hanging from it.

Remus sighed again. He couldn't lie to himself; he was eager to be back at Hogwarts. Even if his transformations were the worst moments of his life, the assurance that James, Sirius and Peter would be there to cheer him up afterwards made them much more tolerable.

He suddenly wondered if they would remember that full moon had been last night.

Less than a minute after this thought had popped into his head, he heard an insistent _tap-tap-tap_ coming from the window of his room. He sat bolt upright and his heart leapt in his chest when he saw Orion, James' owl, goggling at him with round amber eyes from the windowsill.

Remus slid down his bed and ran to the window; as soon as it was open Orion flew in and landed with a graceful pirouette on the bedpost, dropping the letter it was carrying on Remus' pillow. Remus made to the door and opened it, staring pointedly at the owl as he did so.

"The kitchen's downstairs – there should be something for you there…"

Orion hooted happily and took off again, flying right through the open door and down the stairs; as soon as it was out of the room, Remus closed the door, sat back on his bed and reached for the letter.

He broke the wax seal and unrolled a thin sheet of parchment, covered in black ink; James' writing was even messier than usual, as if he had written in a state of complete excitation.

_Remus,_

_How did the transformation go? I wanted to send McGonagall so you could have some fun with him, and forget the whole "furry little problem", if you see what I mean… but Mum forbid me to. She's not fond of him, I think. And the fact that he's a gift from Uncle Cecil doesn't help._

_So I came up with a different idea: why don't you come to my place for a week or two? I intended to invite you anyway, but I hadn't really planned when. But yesterday I discovered something and I absolutely want to tell you about it. So as things are you have two reasons to come, and I won't listen to any reason for you to stay wherever you are. Send Orion back with your answer; I'm expecting you some time tomorrow, or in the coming week. Peter's coming too, and I tried to send a word to Sirius, but I don't know if his dear old mummy will let him out of the house. Mum said she would be very glad to meet the three of you._

_Oh, and I forgot the most important part: WHENEVER YOU COME, PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'LL SHOW UP BETWEEN 3 AND 4. 30._

_See you soon!_

_James_

Remus raised his eyebrows, torn between amusement and perplexity. What had James discovered that made him so eager to talk to him? Why did he have to come precisely between three and half past four? He reread the letter carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. A wide smile stretched his lips when his eyes fell upon the words "furry little problem"… James had a way of using understatements… Of his three friends, James had been the most eager to defuse his condition as a werewolf. Maybe because he was the only one who had actually heard him yelling and howling and destroying the furniture in the Shrieking Shack… Remus often wondered if Sirius and Peter had truly grasped the whole reality of his condition, or if it was no more than a terrifying, but vague concept to them.

He rolled back the parchment into a tight scroll and rose from his sitting position on the bed. He had to ask his parents permission to go to James' house. He stepped out on the landing outside his bedroom, grimacing as the sore muscles in his legs protested. He had not walked down two steps when his mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a worried look on her face.

"Remus! Why are you up?" she asked, her voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.

Remus took the time to walk down a few more steps before answering.

"I'm fine, Mum," he said gently. "Did you see the owl?"

"Yes, I saw it, and I gave it something to eat, but it won't go away," she answered, sounding a bit annoyed. "I suppose it's waiting for an answer of some sort. Were you the one to receive it?"

"He's my friend James Potter's owl," said Remus. "He wanted to invite me to come to his place tomorrow, and to stay there for a week or two…"

His voice trailed away hopefully but his mother was frowning, wariness written all across her young and kindly face.

"A week or two, alone in a strange house?" she said in a doubtful tone. "And so soon after your – your bad night? Remus, I don't know if –"

"But it's just James," pleaded Remus. "Just him, and maybe Sirius and Peter too. They're my friends from Hogwarts! We spent the whole year together!"

The thought that his mother could prevent him from going to James' house made his heartbeat quicken. Remus had changed a lot from the scared little boy he was last summer; at that time, he had wished he could stay hidden in his parents' house for the rest of his life, rather than going to the noisy and busy castle of Hogwarts. He still disliked crowds, disorder and noise, but his life with James, Sirius and Peter was so much more exciting than the time he spent in the little house, lost in a sea of fields, with his parents for only company…

"What's going on?" asked his father, coming out of the drawing room with his glasses low on the bridge of his nose and the _Daily Prophet_ in his hands. "Remus, how come you're up?"

Remus felt a twinge of annoyance. He just had to rise from his bed for his parents to rush at his side and ask him what was wrong. He was not a _baby!_

"Remus got an invitation to go to a friend's house," his mother answered in a low voice, the sceptical expression still on her face. "For a week or two. I don't think that's wise, but he seems to really want to go."

His father slowly shook his head.

"Remus, I think your mum's right. You need to rest here for a few days before you go anywhere –"

"But I'm _bored_ here!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he hadn't said them. His father was visibly hurt, he could tell from the blank look he was giving him; a look of incomprehension and even of distress. But when he saw his mother's shocked and pained expression, as if she had just received an unexpected blow, he instantly experienced a burning feeling of guilt and regret in the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could utter a word, his father spoke up.

"Of course."

Remus and his mother turned to face him. He was not directly looking at them; as a matter of fact, he was staring thoughtfully at the tiled floor, scratching his chin with his index finger.

"I was stupid not to foresee that. How could you enjoy staying here after spending a year at Hogwarts? That house isn't a place to raise an only child."

"I never said –" mumbled Remus, mortified, but his father didn't listen to him.

"I guess it would be a good thing for you if you got away from here for a few days… You just have to be extra careful. Your friend's parents are bound to ask you a few questions about your home and your family – that's only politeness. You don't want to reveal anything about your condition."

Remus hesitated for a split second before nodding. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell his parents that James, Sirius and Peter already knew about his being a werewolf. He was afraid his father would say they probably didn't understand the reality of his curse – after all, his mother hadn't fully understood it either at first; not until she had heard him yelling and thumping in his bedroom – and that, once they did, they would grow scared of him. That exact thought was always lurking in a corner of Remus' mind, nagging him and causing him to imagine horrible scenarios where Sirius and Peter rejected him with yells of "Monster! Monster!"

"Fine," said his mother, sounding defeated. "You can go tomorrow, if you're so eager to leave. But I'm coming with you."

"Mum, I can –"

"No, Remus," she snapped. "Even if you didn't have this – problem – I wouldn't let my twelve-year-old son go all alone in a strange house. I'm coming with you. I want to know what sort of family you're going to live with for the next days."

Remus hung his head and mumbled "Yes, Mum." His mother's face was still stern, but he could see she was struggling to keep herself from smiling at his sheepish expression. As he sent her an apologetic look, her seriousness seemed to melt away and her lips stretched in one of her wonderfully wide smiles – one of those that made Remus' father say they didn't need the sunlight as soon as his wife kept smiling. And Remus privately agreed.

"Now, what do you want for dinner?" she asked.

* * *

James was pacing in a very large and very untidy bedroom on the third floor of the Potter house, distractedly stepping over heaps of clothes, books and various possessions scattering the rich and thick carpet that covered a floor made of dark oak. He glanced nervously from time to time at a round alarm-clock that looked exactly like any Muggle alarm-clock, except that instead of hands it showed twelve shining stars revolving round the midnight-blue dial. 

"Come on, Remus, what are you doing?" he muttered as he kicked a heavy book out of his way.

He shot another glance at the alarm-clock and groaned.

"Only thirty seconds left… twenty seconds… Remus, hurry _up_… five seconds…"

A clock struck three p.m. in a corridor of the first floor. James closed his eyes and let himself collapse on his unmade bed with a desperate moan. He waited, prostrate, until the clock stopped chiming; then he rose again from his bed with the expression of a convict walking to the block. He reached the door in two extremely slow strides, opened it just as slowly, and turned left in the corridor. He took all his time to walk to the wide staircase leading to the floor below, and when he finally decided to go down, he took care to pause for at least three seconds on each step.

But in spite of all his efforts he reached at last the bottom of the stairs and gloomily walked along another corridor, at the same sedate pace – something truly astonishing to witness as James Potter was known for his inability to walk normally, that is to say, without running or bouncing around.

James paused in front of a large double door and stared at it for a good minute, as if hoping it would disappear or transform into a stonewall if he wished hard enough. Unfortunately the door seemed to be firmly determined to stay a door, so James had no choice but push it open and step inside.

The polished floor creaked under his shoes as he resignedly headed for the middle of the large and high-ceilinged room. The whole room seemed to be listening to every noise he was making, and he could feel the family portraits that hung from the walls glaring at him for his lack of enthusiasm.

James paused, staring helplessly at the large, shiny black object that sat imposingly in the very middle of the room.

A piano.

A splendid shiny _grand piano._

James jumped as the mirror recessed in the wall above the fireplace suddenly emitted a high-pitched wail. Oh how James hated that noise; it was something between the hissing of a boiling kettle and the whining of nails on a blackboard. Every time he heard it, his hair stood on end on the back of his neck and he could almost hear his eardrums shrieking in pain.

"Just a minute!" James shouted angrily at the mirror. "I've only just entered the room!"

With an exasperated sigh, he seized the lid of the piano and unceremoniously lifted it, revealing a dazzlingly white keyboard. The keys were clean, dustless, spotless – almost daring James to soil them with his fingers.

"As if I wanted to," he muttered crossly.

James took a pile of scores on the piano and looked through it all until he had found the score he was looking for. Even when he had found it, he just laid it down on the floor next to him and idly ruffled through the rest of the scores – until the mirror screeched again.

"All right, all right, I'm playing!" James yelled, as he hastily put the pile of scores back on the piano.

He grudgingly opened his score and put it on the music rest. Then he tentatively sat on the rectangular stool – as black and shiny as the piano itself –, screwing up his face as he tried to figure out whether he was high enough. He decided he was sitting a bit too low and stood up, before crouching next to the stool and patiently turning the round wheel on the side of it; the seat rose a few inches, and he sat on it again to test the height.

"This time I'm really too high," he said aloud. "I will _never_ be able to play in these conditions."

And so he dropped from his stool again and began to turn the wheel the other way.

The mirror screeched again, only this time the horrid wail lasted longer. James gritted his teeth.

"I hate that thing," he said fiercely.

He finally climbed back on his stool and laid his hands on the white keys, on the left side of the keyboard. He took a deep breath and his right thumb and his left little finger pushed on two Cs, one octave apart, at the same time.

The scale began, dull and schoolish. The notes followed one another with a monotonous regularity, pounding in James' ears – useless, pointless, boring.

"Point-less ex-er-cise point-less ex-er-cise point-less…" James sang with the notes, his high-pitched voice going slightly out of tune as his hands moved further on the right side of the keyboard.

A sharp tap sounded in the room, also coming from the mirror.

"Yes, Mum?" asked James without detaching his gaze from his fingers dancing on the black and white keys.

His mother's laughing and pleasant voice rang in the room.

"James, dear, you're going a bit too fast – start the metronome if it can help you to keep the rhythm."

"No thanks," groaned James. "I don't need that thing, I'll go slower…"

He heard the soft popping noise that meant his mother was no longer listening to him, and added in an undertone:

"And if I hear that wretched thing ticking, I'll probably go mad and throw it out of the window. Would be a blessing for everyone."

He heaved a noisy sigh. His hands had reached the top of the keyboard and started going down it again; James' foot was tapping the floor in rhythm. He stole a glance at the clock fixed to the wall on his right side – it was a quarter to four. Forty-five minutes to go…

"Remus Lupin, I'll never forgive you," muttered James through clenched teeth.

* * *

Margaret Potter turned another page of her book and stifled a yawn of boredom. Her friend Alicia could keep raving about that author as much as she wanted, _she_ thought she had never read such a dull book. She only kept reading because Alicia had literally begged her to – "Meg, dear, you _have_ to read this, or you'll feel incomplete for the _rest_ of your life! Oh _God!_ This young writer _opened_ my eyes!" – but she could feel her attention slipping away, and she found herself listening to the muffled sound of James' scales, instead of focusing on the young and brave witch's frightful adventures in the forest infested with Vampires. 

She lowered her book, frowning. James was playing too fast, and a bit irregularly. The boy had already managed to start playing at half past three, instead of three – she had had to send no fewer than three warnings since he had stepped in the Piano Room – and now he was not even working properly. Mrs Potter tiredly pointed her wand at the large mirror situated above the fireplace, and in which the whole drawing room was reflected. At once, the sound of the scales grew louder and the image of the red and yellow armchairs furnishing the room faded away, to be replaced by the black piano on which James was playing.

Mrs. Potter chuckled when she saw James' expression, which wavered between gloomy resignation and supreme boredom. As soon as the mirror had transformed into a window allowing her to peer into the Piano Room, her son called out without even looking up: "Yes, Mum?"

Mrs. Potter's fond smile widened. James had not forgiven her for her insistence to make him play the piano an hour and a half every day since his return from Hogwarts. But ah – it had to be the only thing she actually forced him to do. Merlin knew how weak she was with her little boy.

"James, dear, you're going a bit too fast," she said. "Start the metronome if it can help you to keep the rhythm."

"No thanks," James answered immediately. "I don't need that thing, I'll go slower…"

Mrs. Potter nodded and waved her wand at the mirror. The image of the piano was replaced by her reflection again, though the sound of James' scales still came from the mirror – just loud enough for her to spot any mistakes or irregularity in them.

She slid her wand back in the belt that kept her richly embroidered robes closed upon her frail frame. Her eyes fell on the book still lying on the coffee table; she hadn't even reached the hundredth page, and the heroine had already fought against a pack of werewolves, half a dozen dragons and a few vampires, not to mention the dozen Dark Wizard she had vanquished single-handedly. The mere idea of going through another ten pages made her want to yawn again; well, that book would at least be of some use if she found herself incapable to sleep tonight. But for now, she would shamelessly leave the courageous teenager battling with her fifth vampire.

Mrs. Potter slammed the book shut and distractedly dropped it on the couch; a house-elf would put it back on its shelf. She lazily walked to a glass door leading to the back garden, with the vague idea of picking up a few flowers and arranging them in the various guest rooms that would soon accommodate James' friends, when the doorbell rang.

The silvery sound was almost immediately followed by the quick _tap-tap-tap_ of a house-elf's bare feet hurrying to the front door. Mrs. Potter froze, curious to hear who had come to see her in the middle of the afternoon. She just hoped it wasn't Alicia; that woman was a dear, but she could be so tiresome.

"Can Pomy help you, Mister?" said the house-elf's shrill voice from the hallway. A boy's voice answered.

"Oh… erm… actually, I…"

Mrs. Potter mentally shook herself and hurried into the hallway to greet her unexpected visitors. On the doorway stood a boy around James' age, rather shy-looking, and holding the hand of a woman – probably his mother – who looked nothing short of panic-stricken. Her eyes were darting in all directions, sometimes staring right through Pomy or Mrs. Potter herself, apparently incapable of seeing them. Both the boy and his mother were in Muggle clothes.

"Good afternoon!" Mrs. Potter said pleasantly, dismissing Pomy with a wave of her hand. "You're one of James' friends, I suppose?"

The boy looked even more timid than before.

"Oh – yes, Madam, I'm, erm…"

"Remus," hissed the woman, who was now clinging to the boy's hand desperately. "Who are you talking to?"

Mrs. Potter suddenly understood.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed. "Is your mother a Muggle, dear?"

The boy called Remus nodded; Mrs. Potter drew her wand from her belt again and cast a quick spell on the woman standing behind her son. She shuddered and blinked once or twice, then her eyes met Mrs. Potter's and her mouth fell open in comical amazement.

"Good afternoon," said Mrs. Potter again, with a smile at the woman's obvious bewilderment. "If your son is Remus, I reckon you are Mrs. Lupin, am I right?"

Mrs. Lupin seemed to regain her composure at Mrs. Potter's kindness. She ventured a small smile in her direction, and answered in a voice that was barely more confident than her son's:

"Good afternoon to you, and yes, I am. I, well, I've only come to drop Remus, seeing that he's only twelve and I didn't want to let him go all the way to your house on his own… Maybe I should –"

"Oh, please come in," interrupted Mrs. Potter. "I would love to have tea with you. Though it's a bit early for tea," she added with a glance at the grandfather clock leaning against a wall. "I wasn't expecting you that early, I must say."

"James said we should come at this hour, though," Remus piped up.

He blushed when Mrs. Potter looked at him enquiringly.

"I – I mean, he did write in his letter… 'Come between three and half past four'…"

Mrs. Potter had to bite back a laugh at this answer.

"I have a fairly good idea of the reason why he told you that," she said pleasantly. "Don't worry, I'm very glad to have some company for the rest of the afternoon. I have to ask you, though, not to see James before half past four. James is playing the piano," she explained at the boy's confused look. "Every day, from three to half past four. He doesn't like it, and it's very likely he'd welcome an interruption. But he has to work. I'm adamant about that."

She tempered her words with her most charming smile as she led them in the magnificent drawing room. Mrs. Lupin was now smiling almost confidently: a boy trying with all his might to escape his daily piano lesson was something she could understand and find amusing, after all.

They had just settled around the coffee table when Pomy the house-elf appeared out of thin air with a sharp cracking noise, carrying on her head a tray loaded with a kettle and three richly decorated cups with their saucers. She bustled around the table for a while, pouring tea for everyone and offering sugar in her high-pitched voice to Remus and his mother, who were both still very intimidated by this display of luxury. Remus had never seen a house-elf before, though he knew about their existence.

However, Mrs. Potter was well-versed in the art of making her visitors comfortable, and ten minutes later she and Mrs. Lupin were chattering like old friends. The Muggle woman was vivacious and witty, and Margaret Potter couldn't recall the last time she had had such an entertaining conversation. She was watching James' friend out of the corner of her eye, ready to suggest he should have a look at the many books contained in the nearby library as soon as he showed any sign of impatience. But Remus was discreetly watching all around him with round eyes, taking in the red and yellow drawing room, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on the Gryffindor crest carved in the mantelpiece.

Mrs. Lupin was just telling her hostess fascinating details about Muggle artefact, when the doorbell rang again. Mrs. Potter excused herself and went in the hallway; she didn't doubt it would be another of James' friends, and she was amused to notice that it was just ten past four. James must have told all of them to come in the middle of his piano lesson.

She opened the door herself, to find on the threshold a plump and timid-looking little boy accompanied by a formidable woman, considerably broader and taller than Mrs. Potter herself. James' mother heard her own melodic voice uttering polite words of greeting with surprising calmness, considering that the woman's odd appearance was something of a shock to her. No such woman had ever stood on her threshold before: she looked like a big farm girl – red-faced, with enormous calloused hands, and wearing a dirty apron and a bonnet on her hair.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am," said the boy shyly. "Erm… I'm Peter Pettigrew and this is Marina…"

Mrs. Potter invited them inside, but the woman called Marina shook her head and answered something in French, in such a booming voice that Mrs. Potter could have sworn the panes of glass on the front door shuddered in their frame.

"She said she had to go back and take care of my mum," explained the boy very quickly, and rapidly turning red in the face.

"Oh – that's a pity, but then, I don't want to keep you if you have other duties…" said Mrs. Potter in answer. "Please tell Mrs. Pettigrew I'm very glad to have her son in my house for a few days. He can stay here as long as he wishes to."

Peter went even redder than before; the French woman smiled a bit uncertainly, as if she hadn't quite understood Mrs. Potter, but made no comment and hugged the little boy before roughly shaking Mrs. Potter's small and white hand – which disappeared entirely, engulfed in Marina's enormous beetle-like hand – and turning away to Disapparate, a few feet from the front door.

Peter was led into the drawing room where he was offered tea; he and Remus exchanged huge smiles, but they didn't dare say anything to each other in front of the grown-ups and just sat there, looking all around them. Peter's mouth was open in awe.

At twenty past four, a fire burst into life in the chimney, so suddenly that Peter started and spilled his tea all over his front. Soon two small silhouettes appeared in the roaring fire, revolving as fast as a top amidst the high flames. Mrs. Lupin stared at the fire with a slightly frightened expression and let out a tiny squeal as two boys, black with soot, finally stepped out of the fireplace.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter!" said the taller boy brightly, addressing a wide smile at James' mother.

Mrs. Potter suddenly recognised the boy who was boldly standing in front of her, his expression completely lacking in the shyness normally visible on the face of any twelve-year-old, when standing in presence of an elderly lady that he barely knew.

But after all, Sirius Black could hardly be considered as an average twelve-year-old. Mrs. Potter remembered vividly how he and James had sneaked out of the Black House to play Quidditch, in the middle of a party given for young Sirius himself.

"Good afternoon, Sirius," she answered in her laughing voice. "You brought your little brother along, I can see."

"Yes," said the boy with a grimace, holding up his hand which seemed glued to Regulus Black's small one. "Mum even put a sticking spell on our hands… Please, could you…"

"Oh, of course," Margaret Potter said hastily; she drew her wand from her belt again and whispered the counter-curse on the two boys' linked hands. Sirius immediately let go of his little brother, who crossed his arms over his chest with a sulky expression.

The two newcomers were taken to the hallway where Pomy the house-elf helped them to remove the soot covering their clothes and faces. Then they were led into the drawing room again, and had just sat down and accepted a glass of pumpkin juice when the clock in the hallway chimed.

"It's half past four," said Mrs. Potter softly. "We should expect –"

She stopped talking quite abruptly, and everyone immediately understood why. The faint sound of piano that had been coming from the mirror for the past forty-five minutes had stopped, and now they could all hear someone noisily hurtling down the stairs and running along a corridor; next second the door burst open and James came in, panting and exclaiming:

"Has none of them arrived y–"

He stopped dead and watched the four boys sitting around the coffee table with bulging eyes.

"You're all here?" he said incredulously.

"Well, yes," said his mother sweetly. "They've been here for some time now."

James' puzzled expression turned to disbelief.

"And you let me play those stupid scales all this time?" he questioned indignantly.

"James," snapped his mother.

James looked unsettled by his mother's dry tone, and seemed to shrink a little on the spot. "Yes, Mum?" he asked, almost humbly.

"You just came running here, without even saying hello to Mrs. Lupin," Mrs. Potter went on, managing to keep her voice as cold as before, though she had to fight back a smile at the sudden change in James' attitude. "And you're speaking to me in a very disrespectful tone. Is that your way to greet your guests?"

James instantly walked up to Mrs. Lupin and took her hand in his small one; but instead of shaking it he bowed lightly over it, murmuring words of greeting. Mrs. Potter didn't look surprised, nor did any of the Black boys, who were used to that kind of formality. On the other hand, Peter and Remus exchanged bewildered glances, their eyebrows raised, and Mrs. Lupin looked a bit confused for a minute or so.

"That's better, James," said Mrs. Potter appreciatively. "Now you may go and show your friends their bedrooms, so that they can drop their bags. Pomy will ring the bell when dinner's ready."

The boys didn't need to be told twice, and after Remus had said goodbye to his mother, James dragged all three of them out of the drawing room and up the stairs. Regulus followed, looking even sulkier than when he had first arrived.

"Why did you bring him along?" James asked Sirius as he spotted the little boy, who was hurrying after them with his face screwed up as if he was about to burst into tears.

"Long story," sighed Sirius. "I had to battle with my dear old mummy for hours to get her permission, and in the end we were both shouting so loudly that my dad came and said that if we didn't come quickly to an agreement, he would have to use a Silencing Charm on the pair of us. Finally she let me go at the only condition that I would take Regulus with me. She probably wants him to spy on me."

"And why were your hands glued together?" Peter asked curiously.

"Because she knew I would try to throw Regulus out of the first chimney I saw when taking the Floo network," Sirius answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

James and Peter burst out laughing and Regulus sniffed angrily behind them. James was now leading them up a second staircase, and Remus' legs started to ache again. His transformation was only two days away, after all.

"In your letter you said you had discovered something and you wanted to tell us about it," he panted, tugging on James' shirt to draw his attention. "So what is it?"

James turned to face him; his eyes were shining with excitation, and he spoke in a very low voice, so that Regulus, who was lagging behind, couldn't catch his words.

"That's precisely what I'm going to show you."

* * *

**A/N: Sooo?...**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here it is at last... I've been writing a few lines here and a few lines there, while 'my' children were sleeping. I was so _sure_ few-month-olds slept much longer by day...**

**Well, enjoy! It isn't beta-ed (I couldn't wait any longer, to be honest) but I'll edit it once my Beta returns it. **

**

* * *

Chapter 10: Of muffins, crazy ideas and butterflies**

James raised a finger to his lips and stared pointedly at Regulus, who was finally catching up with them, the bag that hung from his shoulder bouncing off his legs as he climbed the stairs as fast as he could. But the younger boy looked far from trying to eavesdrop; he was emitting small hiccoughing noises at close intervals, as do children who are trying to cry in order to catch the grown-ups' attention.

"Don't start blubbering on purpose," snapped Sirius, clearly used to these demonstrations. "We're on the second floor, nobody will hear you."

"Maybe we could show him his room?" suggested Remus, who was watching the little boy with kindly interest. Sirius had mentioned once or twice he had a little brother in the past months, but he had never been keen on elaborating. Yet, Regulus didn't look so bad. A bit sulky, maybe, but after all he was alone with four older boys in an unknown house…

"Yes, well, he doesn't have a room," said James, embarrassed. "He wasn't exactly expected. But I'll ask Pomy to –"

"Pomy's here, young Master," squeaked a small voice just behind Peter.

Peter jumped in shock and lost his balance; and he would have rolled down to the bottom of the stairs if Sirius and James hadn't grabbed his arms to steady him. Remus was looking wildly around to find the source of the squeaky voice, and he found Pomy the house-elf perched on one step, stock-still as if struck by lightening, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Oh, Pomy has frightened Master James' friend!" she squealed, horrified. "I is so sorry, so sorry! Pomy just wanted to tell Master James that Madam has had another bed put in Mr. Sirius Black's bedroom for his brother! Pomy will eat mushrooms for her dinner tonight for frightening Master James' friend!"

"That's all right, Pomy," said James, waving away the elf's apologies. "I don't think Peter's angry at you. And, know what," he suddenly added, "maybe you can make up for it by bringing us some cool pumpkin juice…"

The horrified expression on the elf's wrinkled face disappeared as a mischievous smile stretched her lips.

"Pomy is quite sure Madam has already told Master James not to bring food in his bedroom," she said in a sanctimonious voice. "Pomy shouldn't make pumpkin juice for Master James, oh no, Pomy really shouldn't."

"That's right," said James, grinning down at the house-elf. "So what should I expect?"

Pomy scratched her chin for a moment, apparently thinking hard.

"Pomy would advise Master James," she said at last slowly, "not to sit on his carpet for a little while, sir."

"Okay then," said James brightly. "Hurry up. And you don't need to eat those mushrooms, I'm sure Peter has already forgiven you, haven't you, Peter?"

Pomy looked at Peter hopefully for a few seconds, her big blue eyes bulging until they looked about to pop out of their sockets; Peter finally got the hint and hastily nodded to reassure her. The house-elf addressed him her most charming toothless smile before disappearing with a crack that startled everybody, except James and the Black boys.

"What was that carpet thing?" asked Sirius, bewildered.

"You'll see," said James evasively as he turned around and climbed the rest of the stairs. The four boys followed.

"And why did she want to eat mushrooms?" panted Remus, who was very intrigued by the small creature.

"That's her way to punish herself when she does something bad," answered James over his shoulder. "She hates mushrooms, she can't digest them."

"That's softer than _our_ house-elf's self-inflicted punishments," commented Sirius. "Last time, he slammed a cupboard door on his fingers."

James winced at the thought, having already had that kind of painful experiences – though in his case it had been entirely accidental. Peter and Remus exchanged puzzled looks.

"They all do that? Self-inflicted punishments?" Remus asked hesitantly.

"Well, yeah, I think so," said Sirius, raising his eyebrows in surprise at his friend's question. "Part of their nature. They value their master's well-being far above their own, don't they? So if they do something wrong, it's normal they should punish themselves."

"That's… that's…" spluttered Remus. He was shocked by the mere idea – and even more by Sirius and James' casualness at talking about those things, as if they were natural.

"That's what?" asked James, genuinely surprised.

Sirius almost stamped his foot in frustration.

"Look, it's not that I wouldn't _dream_ of having a long discussion about house-elves, but James was saying _he had something important to tell us!"_

"What?" asked Regulus at once.

The four boys started slightly and wheeled around to face the little boy, whom they had almost forgotten after the incident on the stairs.

"None of your business," said Sirius rather harshly.

Regulus scowled and folded his arms over his chest, glaring up at his older brother.

"I'm allowed to stay with you," he whined. "You can't order me to go away."

"Hey, Regulus," said James suddenly. "What's your favourite food?"

Regulus eyed James rather suspiciously, probably remembering how he and Sirius had locked him in a cupboard the previous year, right after wrecking his room.

"Muffins," he said slowly at last, while his hands clutched tightly the strap of his bag diagonally crossing his chest, in a rather defensive stance.

"Look, here's the deal," said James decidedly. "I'm going to show you your room and you're going to stay there for the rest of the afternoon, and I'll ask Pomy to bring you muffins. Just remember not to leave crumbs on the carpet. Okay?"

Regulus shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again; he was visibly tempted by James' offer but didn't dare to trust him. What was more, Sirius strongly suspected his mother had instructed Regulus to dog his footsteps, so as to make sure Sirius was behaving properly; and Regulus never disobeyed his mother. He would have to be convinced with other arguments.

"Oh, he won't want to be left alone in a room, he would be afraid and start crying like a _baby,_" Sirius shot at his brother derisively.

Regulus' face went as red as a peony.

"I'm not a baby!" he screeched, stamping his foot. "I won't cry!"

"Perfect then, your room is the second door on the left," said James brightly.

Regulus sent another suspicious glance in their direction before slowly walking to the indicated door and disappearing in the room beyond.

Sirius let out a sigh of relief.

"Good riddance," he said, rather viciously.

He turned around and was startled to find Remus glaring at him.

"You were really mean to him," accused Remus. His tone was dry but there was a look of uncertainty about him, as if he wasn't sure he should talk at all. He was far from having Sirius' confidence, and making reproaches to his friends was a bit of a new experience for him – except a memorable outburst the previous year, when they had earned a month's worth of detentions for fighting a bunch of Slytherins.

Predictably, he regretted almost at once ever opening his mouth, for Sirius turned red with anger and snapped with an astounding violence for a boy his age:

"What would you know about it? Have you ever had to put up with him every day? Have you ever tried to live with _my family?_"

Remus instinctively took a step or two backwards, and he was relieved when James stepped between him and Sirius and spoke loudly to drown Sirius' voice.

"Look, let's not start arguing right now – I _said _I had something important to tell you, and it is mainly about you, Remus. And it's far more important than Sirius' little brother! So if you two would just stop looking daggers at each other, we could go to my room right now."

Sirius furiously bit his lip, obviously still stung by Remus' reproach, but he didn't make any comment and followed James along the corridor, stalking past Remus without glancing at him.

Remus and Peter went silently after the pair of them.

They reached James' room within a few minutes; James pushed the door open and let them in an enormous square bedroom, which made a startling contrast with the solemn white-walled and wooden-floored corridors they had just been in. The walls of James' bedroom were covered in a paper of a warm yellow colour, and a thick carpet lay on the floor, so inviting that Sirius immediately let himself fall onto it in a sitting position. Posters of Quidditch teams were fixed to the walls, most of the time clashing rather spectacularly with the yellow wallpaper. The red curtains hanging around the open windows were lazily shivering in the cool breeze. The sheets of the unmade bed were red, too.

"C'mon, everyone!" James' ringing voice made Remus and Peter snap out of the dazzled state they were in due to that sudden burst of colours. "Sirius, get off the carpet – there, let's all sit on my bed."

Sirius weakly protested, but at James' insistence he finally got to his feet with a grunt and joined the other three, sitting on James' bed. They had only just settled when a tray appeared out of nowhere on the carpet, loaded with a jug of cool pumpkin juice and five glasses.

"Thanks, Pomy!" called James, though the elf was nowhere to be seen. "You can take back the fifth glass, Regulus isn't with us. Send his glass to his bedroom along with a few muffins, please."

As an answer, a glass disappeared with a small pop; then the jug rose in the air and bent on its own initiative over each of the four glasses, pouring the bright orange drink for the four boys. The four glasses then flew to their respective owners, who caught them.

"That's why she told you not to sit on the carpet!" exclaimed Sirius, his foul mood apparently gone. James nodded in answer with a small smile on his face.

"Yeah, I corrupted her years ago," he laughed, raising his glass.

They all mimicked him and drank a long sip of the cool juice, as solemn as four captains reunited to seek an alliance.

"So," said James once they had lowered their glasses. "I've been thinking about Remus'… erm…"

"Furry little problem," Remus completed with a smile. "That's what you called it in your letter."

"Sounds good," commented Sirius in a low voice that sounded very much like a conspirator's. "We can use that name in public so that nobody understands what we're talking about."

Peter emitted a sort of excited squeak.

"Anyway, I thought about it," James resumed, claiming back the attention of the other three. "And I reflected that it's all very good to wait for Remus when he's having his… _bad nights,_ but that's not good enough. We should try to stay with him, to distract him or something –"

"No way," said Remus immediately. He had put his glass down, oblivious of the fact the glass was dangerously swaying on the ruffled sheets and was threatening to spill its content. His face had paled.

"I already told you about it," he went on in a strained voice. "I thought you had understood…"

He tried very hard to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"I'm not myself when I'm transformed, I would attack you and b-bite you…"

"I know," said James impatiently. "I tried to find a way we could keep you company without you wanting to bite us."

"That's impossible," protested Remus, tensing even more at James' words. "Those nights, I'm… addicted… to human flesh. I can smell it from very far away and I always go and hunt it. No human being can keep me company."

"That's what I'm aiming at!" exclaimed James. Then, turning to Sirius: "You don't remember a line or two on that subject, in the book we read last year in the library? The day we found out about Remus?"

Sirius furrowed his brow in concentration.

"Hmm… Well, it did say that a… 'furry little guy' would try to seek and bite any human being in close proximity…"

"…and it also said that it wasn't a danger to animals!" James completed triumphantly.

There was a silence as every one in the room looked uncertainly at James' face, which was shining with joy and excitation.

"Erm… James?" said Peter nervously. "We… we're not animals…"

James leant forward.

"Yes, but we can _become_ animals," he whispered.

And, as they still stared at him in bewilderment, he set his glass aside and dived to reach under his pillow. From there he draw a heavy book, very venerable-looking and completely out of place on the unmade and vivid-coloured bed. The leather binding was worn away at the corners and edges and the golden letters adorning the cover were wearing off as well, making the title barely understandable.

"_The… principles… of… human… transfiguration,_" Remus deciphered.

He looked up at James, who was still smiling with triumph.

"Human Transfiguration?" he repeated uncertainly. "You mean, changing into animals and keeping me company under that form?"

"That's brilliant!" said Sirius as he leant forward and snatched the book out of Remus' hands.

He started to leaf through the book, carelessly turning the old yellowing pages – a groan of protest came from the book, which had certainly known more respectful hands – until he found a chapter at the end of the book. James had put a bookmark there, and Sirius also found a sheet of parchment folded between the pages and covered with James' narrow writing. He pushed the parchment aside so that he could read the chapter title.

"Becoming an Animagus," he read aloud.

James nodded.

"That would be the best way," he said knowingly. "From what I understood, an Animagus is a person who can turn into an animal at will. Think about it – we could transform at will and spend the whole night in the Shrieking Shack with Remus. If it turns out we can _control_ Remus in some way, we could even get out of the Shack and explore! The grounds would be ours!"

Peter's eyes were as round as two Quaffles.

"How do you become an Anima-thingy?" he asked in a voice that was hushed by awe.

James' smile faded slightly.

"I took notes," he answered hesitantly while pointing at the folded parchment. Sirius picked it up and unfolded it; he started reading, his slight frown of concentration deepening as he reached the end.

"Looks like a lot of work," he said slowly. "I think I recognise one or two incantations, but as for the others…"

"The wand waving is explained in the book," James interrupted, but now he sounded nervous rather than triumphant. "The process looks rather long, though… That's the trouble. And the spells are quite complicated, but there's nothing _undoable_, strictly speaking."

Peter shook his head.

"We're in second year," he said in a small voice. "And _I'_m not good at all at Transfiguration. It's –"

"I'm sure we can do it," said James decidedly. "Sirius and I can, and with our help you will manage too, Peter. Transfiguration is not that difficult, anyway, you just need to be able to…"

He did a vague hand gesture in his attempt to explain what exactly they needed to do to be good at Transfiguration.

"…see things change… see how they can change, physically speaking… You know?" he went on hopefully.

Peter sadly shook his head again; Sirius' expression was of puzzlement. Remus gave a small smile.

"I don't think that's possible," he said gently. "But thanks for offering, James, it means a lot."

James' face went a little pink and his eyes flashed in anger.

"Oh, do stop being defeatist!" he barked brusquely. "We can do this. Sirius and I are the best students in the year. I know it will take time, I'm not an idiot, but six months, or even a year's worth of hard working is… is nothing compared with the good time we could have afterwards! C'mon, Remus, if you expect me to sit there and watch you transforming every full moon, you don't know me at all!"

He glared furiously at Sirius, who gravely nodded.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to raise my glass to the dumbest, craziest and scariest idea I have ever heard of!" he announced with a little bow of his head towards James, who scowled in answer. "And I'd like to add I'm all for it," he completed with a wicked grin. James shook his head – as if to say, "I don't believe him," – and laughed aloud with glee.

"But –"

"Remus, honestly, stop trying to talk us out of it. You're not even that concerned, come to think of it; if I understand well the whole thing, you won't be the one to work on it. Peter?"

Peter nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, as long as you two help me, I guess I can do it," he said simply.

James' grin was so broad that the rim of his round glasses was digging in his cheeks.

"That's settled then," he cheerfully concluded; and he leant forward again and extended his hand. Sirius placed his own hand over James' without a second's hesitation, and Peter followed suit.

Remus sighed, but he put his hand on top of his friends' nonetheless. Then – on its own volition, it seems – his face broke into a smile as wide as James', and his heart lifted considerably. Even if he tried not to have illusions, he couldn't help hoping they would succeed.

They were still frozen in that position, all four of them caught in the solemnity of the instant, when the ringing of a distant bell broke the silence.

At once, James withdrew his hand and leapt to his feet, shouting: "Dinner's ready!" And before anyone else had the time to realise what was going on, he had wrenched the door open and dashed out in the corridor.

The other three followed, laughing and pushing each other out of the way as they raced after James.

* * *

The boys spent two weeks – two sunlit, warm, wonderful weeks – at the Potter House. They were outside all day, swimming, climbing up trees and flying, taking turns on James' broomstick. None of them had forgotten the decision they had made the first day in James' bedroom, but the sunbathed garden was so inviting that the heavy leather-bound book James had stolen from his father's library only seemed more forbidding still. Besides, they weren't allowed to do magic out of school, so what was the point in deciphering complicated explanations if they couldn't even practice? They would have all the time in the world at Hogwarts… 

The end of the second week came, and with it came the time to say goodbye. James tried his hardest to convince his friends to stay a little longer; he had never had such a good time since the end of the past term at Hogwarts, and he dreaded to find himself alone in the immense house again.

"You know that's not possible," said Remus gently, as they all sat on James' carpet. "My next 'bad night' is ten days away. I'll soon grow reckless and… well, weird, and your parents will suspect something."

"Same for me," said Peter. "I can't stay, I need to see my mum. It's bad enough to leave her alone with Marina all school year, without leaving her as well during the holidays. I had a wonderful time though," he hastily added.

James turned to Sirius, silently imploring; but his best friend's expression was as miserable as his.

"You know I would give anything to stay here," he said dejectedly. "But if Regulus and I don't show up tonight, Mum will come to fetch us herself, and believe me, you don't want to see her again."

Sirius heaved a sigh that seemed to empty him of all his usual energy and he slumped forward, letting his head fall in his hands. James looked away from them and his gaze wandered around his room. It was as messy as always, but he noticed small changes here and there, witnesses of his friends' stay: those dirty marks on the wall that were Peter's fingerprints, those burns on his desk where Sirius had played with the candle, and those books, in which he would find so many pages whose corner had been folded when Remus had had to interrupt his reading. As his eyes lingered on the bed, whose sheets were strewn with cards that they had been too lazy to re-order and put away, a gleam in the shadows under the bed caught his attention.

He extended his arm and grabbed the heavy book, abandoned in the dust; the golden letters gleamed more forcefully than before as he wiped the grime soiling the old leather. He felt three pairs of eyes following his every move as he delicately opened the venerable book at the chapter on Animagi.

"I'll work on this for the rest of the summer," he brusquely decided. "I'll try to plan our work, and see how much time we'll need. All of you," he added, raising his head to look round at his friends, "try to find out as much as you can about Animagi. We need as much information as possible when we start working on becoming ones. Okay?"

They all nodded; Peter looked a bit embarrassed and he opened his mouth to say something but Sirius cut him short, sharply raising a hand to silence them all. In the ensuing quiet, they all heard light footsteps in the corridor, approaching James' door. A few seconds later the door opened slightly with a creak and Regulus' dark head appeared in the narrow opening.

"Sirius, we're supposed to come down now," he said. "Mum just called by the Floo Network."

"Right, I'm coming in a second," Sirius answered, the gloomy look back on his features. Regulus nodded and withdrew, but stayed standing in the corridor to wait for his brother. It was clear he didn't dare come down without Sirius, for fear the latter would pointedly refuse to leave James' bedroom. Nevertheless, James vaguely noted how much civiler the two brothers were to each other when they weren't in their own home. Actually, they had all let Regulus take part of some of their games and the little boy had quickly overcome his original wariness; he was now on very friendly terms with Remus and Peter, and he was polite with James. What Mrs. Black would say if she ever learnt her precious Regulus had been friend with two half-bloods, was something James had rather not imagine.

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter lingered in the bedroom for a little while, trying to postpone as much as possible the moment that they would have to split. Finally Sirius rose to his feet with another sigh that sounded like a moan; and the other three followed suit. They went out of the bedroom in a procession, uncharacteristically quiet. Regulus led the way down to the red and gold drawing room; The Black boys' bags were waiting for them in front of the fireplace in which a fire was already roaring, ready to send them back to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Sirius swallowed hard. Even Regulus seemed slightly depressed.

Mrs. Potter received with a smile Regulus' farewell, conscientiously recited in a rather dull voice, but accompanied with a shy grin that clearly said the boy had enjoyed his time at her house. Her smile, however, faded when it was Sirius' turn to say goodbye. He seemed to have entirely lost the boiling energy he had been demonstrating over the past two weeks, and his head hung piteously. As for James, he had seldom looked so miserable.

"Don't be sad," she said gently, losing the light tone that usually made her sound as if nothing was really important. How could a child's sorrow not be important? "You'll be able to come back for the Christmas and Easter holidays. Your mother and I will arrange that."

To tell the truth, she wasn't at all sure she could talk Lenora Black into letting her son spend so much time out of her reach, but still, the hopeful gleam that suddenly illuminated Sirius' grey eyes at her words was worth the try. She smiled at her own indulgence. She really was too weak with her boys.

At last Sirius and Regulus swooped down and swung their bags around their shoulders in identical fluid gestures. Then Sirius took Regulus' hand in his own, and with his free hand he grabbed a fistful of glistening powder in a golden bowl. The flames turned emerald green and roared more than ever as they were showered with Floo Powder; the Black boys stepped in the flames, which were so high they licked their cheeks, and when Sirius called in a mournful voice: "The Black House!", there was a whooshing sound and they disappeared.

Mrs. Lupin and Marina arrived almost at the same time; Marina departed immediately, taking Peter with her, and Mrs. Lupin lingered just the time to chat a bit with Mrs. Potter and thank her for taking care of Remus.

"Don't mention it, dear, it was a pleasure," said Mrs. Potter. "I would be delighted to have Remus again for the holidays, he's a very charming boy. And I'd like to invite you and your husband to dinner some evening in September; my husband Robert should be back from his trip in Eastern Europe by that time…"

While the grown-ups were talking in the drawing room, James dragged Remus in the hallway.

"You'll write, okay?" he whispered urgently. "I need to know if you've found something for our – project."

"I'll do what I can," Remus promised; and that was it, for a second later the two mothers had emerged from the drawing room, still exchanging the compliments and promises that grown-ups seemed so fond of saying whenever they met. After saying goodbye to James and his mother, the Lupins went out of the house and the door closed behind them.

James sat alone on the bottom step of the wide staircase and stared at the imposing oak door for a long moment.

They were gone.

* * *

The summer dragged on with unbearable slowness; in August, the sunny days were replaced by grey clouds and a sultry hotness, and the eagerly awaited storm that would refresh the muggy atmosphere was never coming. 

A week before the beginning of the term, Mrs. Potter sent Pomy the house-elf to Diagon Alley with a list of things James would need for his second year; James, alerted by Pomy's mysterious hints and knowing smiles, began to suspect she wasn't merely going to buy school supplies and decided to wait for the elf in the hallway. That way, he was sure to be the first one to see her when she returned.

Unfortunately his plans were impeded by his mother, who sent him to do his piano practice early "seeing that he didn't seem to have anything else to do than lurking at the ground floor." He grudgingly obeyed and soon, the hated sound of scales filled the Piano Room again.

James stifled a huge yawn as he finished his scales and began to study his piece one hand at a time. After about twenty minutes, a sharp tap came from the mirror and his mother's voice said:

"James! Enough for the right hand! Left hand now!"

James groaned. The part for the right hand was fun enough to work on, but he hated practicing with his left hand; there were chords everywhere, and some of them were difficult to catch – for he had small hands. After two minutes of relatively assiduous studying, one chord went wrong and a note completely out of tune rang through the room. One portrait was unwise enough to let out a squeak of protest.

"SHUT UP!" roared James in the portrait's direction. "I know I got it wrong, I'm not stupid!"

The portrait looked utterly offended.

"Really, my little gentleman, I think I know better than you do –" he began disdainfully; but James had had enough. He slammed his fist on the keyboard, causing the piano to emit a high-pitched discordant screech, and all the portraits jumped and started talking with various degrees of indignation.

"He's going to shatter my eardrums – and eardrums in oil painting are so difficult to mend!"

"That's a _disgrace_ to every single of his musician ancestors –"

"He's manhandling a piano that was here before he was even born –"

"He just needs to be explained what he did wrong! Now, my little James, it should have been an F, not a G –"

James seized the piano lid and wrenched it down so violently that several keys sank when the lid brutally collided with them; another jarring, plaintive chord echoed in the room, amplified in the wide belly of the black piano, and the pile of scores laying on top of the piano swayed and fell to the floor.

James didn't stop to gather the scores that had scattered all across the polished floor. He headed right for the door, ignoring the protests and lamentations still coming from the portraits, and roughly pulled it open. The sight that greeted him made him freeze in his tracks.

His mother was just outside the door, probably alerted by the cacophony that had resulted from the keyboard-punching. She slightly raised her eyebrows at her son, who stood frozen in the doorway, before looking over his shoulder and gazing at the scores spread on the floor. She didn't say anything, and the glance she gave James was merely expressing mild surprise, but James turned scarlet with shame.

Guiltily hanging his head, he stepped back in the room and started gathering the scores as quickly as possible. He hastily arranged them back in a pile and placed them on the piano, which was still vibrating with the discordant chord. He was about to sit on the tool and resume his piano practice when his mother's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"What happened?"

Her voice was concerned, rather than angry. James was now so ashamed he would have gladly jumped inside the piano and hidden there for the rest of his life. He knew how much his mother wanted him to be able to play the piano; and he was disappointing her every time he played badly.

"I'm not good at playing," he stammered. "It would be better if I stopped, I'm incapable of getting a single piece right…"

His mother knelt to be level with him and took him by the shoulders; and he was stunned and considerably relieved to see she was smiling.

"I wasn't gifted either," she said in her light, laughing tone. "But my mum – your grandmother, whose portrait is here –"

James automatically glanced towards his grandmother's portrait. The old lady waved cheerily at him; she had been the one who had tried to explain him what he had done wrong earlier, while the other portraits were moaning over the outrage done to the piano.

"– your grandmother made me practice, every day, over and over again. You'll see, when you're able to play, it'll make you very happy."

James shrugged in a non-committal way, very unconvinced he would ever be happy to touch a piano keyboard. His mother's grin widened and she straightened up, walked swiftly to the tool and sat on it. After adjusting the height, she lifted the lid and placed her hands on the keyboard.

She played a few bars of a light, soft and playful piece, which seemed the musical translation of her laughing voice. James looked, transfixed, at the smile that illuminated his mother's face as she played. When she stopped, he asked eagerly:

"What was that?"

She turned to him, still smiling.

"Schumann's _Butterflies_."

And James thought it was a perfect title for this piece. He also thought it was the first time he truly enjoyed listening to the sound of a piano.

His mother suddenly got to his feet, startling him out of his piano-related musings.

"Enough serious talk," she said. "Pomy is back from Diagon Alley, and I made her buy something that could be useful for your second year."

She hadn't reached the end of her sentence when Pomy burst in, carrying a long parcel and looking completely overexcited. She must have been waiting all this time behind the door for the right moment to make her entry.

"Here, Master James, here is it!" she squealed as she held the parcel at arm's length for James to take it.

James, puzzled, delicately took the parcel and weighted it in his hands for a second of two. Suddenly realising what was probably wrapped in the brown paper, he abruptly tore the parcel open with a squeal to match Pomy's, and his eyes widened behind his glasses when they fell on the most beautiful broomstick he had ever seen.

"I thought that the broomstick we bought you four years ago wasn't fit for applying for the Gryffindor Quidditch team," her mother commented lightly. "So I thought a racing broom would be a good present for –"

She was cut short by James' burst of joy.

"The Silver Arrow 145! It's beautiful! It's brilliant! Thanks, thanks, thanks Mum!"

James leapt up to throw his arms around his mother's neck, and Margaret Potter laughed heartily as she embraced her son; she put him down very quickly – he was too heavy for her to carry him, now, really – but she let him take her hands and drag her in a sort of war dance all around the venerable Piano Room, and they were whooping and laughing and singing as if they were both twelve.

**

* * *

A/N: ****So short!... I've not written a chapter that short since chapter 5! I will never be able to look at myself in a mirror again... Will you find in your heart to forgive me?**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Here it is at last! Joy and happiness! AND it's Beta-ed! – Insert wide, stupid grin – I do hope you'll like it… Some of you may have flashes from some books while reading this; from HBP and PoA, to be specific. It was accidental. Well… half-accidental, at least.**

**Enjoy!**

**----------------------**

**Chapter 11: Of Nosebleeds, Mischievous Mirrors and Disastrous Trips**

"Don't let go of Pomy, Master James!" squeaked the elf, terrified. "Pomy is afraid of being carried away! I is very small, Master James!"

"Well, I'm not big either," snapped James, annoyed. He was having enough of a hard time wrenching his way through the crowd of Hogwarts students to get to the train without Pomy's wailing. Why had his mother insisted that he should take her with him? He could manage very well on his own—

"Hey, watch it kid!" shouted a voice as James was knocked to the ground by a much bigger student. He tried to stand up, but people kept banging into him and sending him landing flat on his front on the ground again, as if he was nothing more than a suitcase abandoned on the platform.

He managed to raise his head a few inches without earning himself another accidental kick, but all he could see was a forest of moving feet and billowing robes, and the to and fro movements of heavily loaded trolleys. Pomy was no longer with him, and his trolley had been driven away from him by the movements of the crowd.

_Oh, just great_.

As he scrambled to his knees once more, something collided violently with his face. His glasses flew and he heard them shattering on the ground; at once, he experienced a thrill of dread—how was he going to find them again? He was almost blind without his glasses.

A split second later, however, he forgot about his glasses when he received a sharp blow in the right eye.

"Ouch!"

He screwed his eyes tightly shut as his right eye throbbed painfully. The blow seemed to have reverberated in his whole skull, which was now ringing like a gong. He automatically lifted his hands to cover his eye and found his cheek wet with tears of pain.

"Well, if it isn't _Potter,_" sneered a voice above him.

James hastily wiped his cheeks and strived to stop blinking; but his right eye was still aching and the pain got worse when he tried to open it. He raised his head towards the source of the sneering voice, one eye closed and the other squinted in order to try to distinguish something in the colourful blur surrounding him.

"Wow, don't you look pretty like that," sniggered the same voice. "Pity I can't take any photo."

James inwardly cursed his bad luck as he recognised the voice; of all the people who could have walked on him when he was lying half-blind on the ground, _Snape_ had to be the one to find him.

"Shove off, Snape," he barked while he discreetly groped all around him for his glasses.

"What a scathing answer," Snape commented derisively. "Are you looking for _this_?"

And he waved an object in front of James' blind face. James made to grab it but it was snatched out of his grip.

"It looks like broken glasses," Snape idly went on. "Surely they aren't yours? Great and rich pure-blood _James Potter_ can't have his glasses broken. Imagine what a ridiculously_ trivial _accident that would be for great James Potter."

"Give that back before you put grease marks all over the lenses!" James retorted, his temper rising; and he reached out, with the intention of seizing his glasses – or, fail that, hitting Snape as hard as he could.

As an answer, Snape kicked him viciously in the face, throwing him backward to land flat on his back on the platform. James yelped and covered his face with his hands as he reflexively curled into a ball; a sharp pain was shooting through his nose, and a warm liquid flooded on his mouth and chin and between his fingers.

A second later, someone sat heavily on him, pinning him to the ground, and Snape's gleeful voice whispered in his ear,

"Not very pleasant, Potter, is it? Maybe that'll teach you not to mess up my Potions next time… Did I break your nose?"

James released his face and aimed another blow at Snape; his fist collided with the Slytherin's bony chest and he heard a muffled exclamation of rage. He prepared for hitting Snape again, but froze when he felt the tip of Snape's wand digging into his throat.

"Not had enough, Potter?" hissed Snape.

"You filthy coward!" screamed James furiously.

"What's going on here?" drawled an only too familiar voice.

James closed his eyes in despair. Lucius Malfoy. Exactly what he needed right now.

"Get off him, Severus," said Malfoy curtly.

A few seconds went before James and Snape registered what Malfoy had just said. James stopped struggling against Snape's weight in shock: was Malfoy actually _defending _him? Since when had Malfoy prevented Snape—or any Slytherin, for that matter—from manhandling Gryffindors…?

Snape was frozen in the same position, his wand pointed at James' neck, obviously taken aback himself by Malfoy's unexpected order.

"I said, get off him, you fool!" Malfoy snapped, and the weight pinning James to the ground abruptly lifted, as if Snape had been brutally pulled to his feet. "Attacking another student in the middle of a crowd, when any prefect can see you…. Are you completely stupid?"

James blinked. Of course…. He should have known it was not a sudden concern for justice that had encouraged Malfoy's surprisingly decent intervention. He pushed himself off the ground in a sitting position and wiped the blood off his face as much as he could; but the flow was only getting thicker, and the throb in his nose was worsening. Above his head, Malfoy was still reprimanding Snape for his carelessness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think—"

"_That_ is obvious," snarled Malfoy. "I thought you would have drawn the lessons from hanging around with me all past months…. I'm beginning to wonder if you're worth the trouble to try and teach you anything at all. Only fools and Gryffindors attack in broad daylight, you dimwit!"

"I'm very sorry, Lucius," said Snape again. "It won't happen again, I—"

"Well, I hope it won't!" barked Malfoy. "And I don't give a damn if you're sorry. Now get on the train before you do something stupid again."

Silence followed these words and James assumed Malfoy had walked away, taking Snape with him. The crowd had gradually thinned around James during the conversation and there was hardly any student left on this part of the platform now; they had probably all gathered around the Hogwarts Express. He had to hurry up or he would miss it.

Panic suddenly swelled in James' chest. How was he supposed to board the train? He had lost his trunk, he was dripping blood everywhere and he couldn't even see his hand outstretched in front of him! Straightening on his knees, he looked wildly all around him, willing himself to see _something_, other than a vague blur. He could distantly make out the red shape of the Hogwarts Express, somewhere on his left, and the colourful throng of students and their families pressing themselves all around the train. Once again, he began to grope around for his glasses, his hands frantically feeling the hot concrete of the platform.

Where were those wretched glasses? Surely they couldn't have fallen that far—

_Wait a minute_. Snape had picked them up, and he had never given them back to James…

James froze. Snape had his glasses.

Now he was in serious trouble…

"Master James! Master James!"

James blindly spun around on his knees towards the point Pomy's squeaky voice had come from. He distinguished the elf's small figure running towards him as fast as her little legs could carry her, followed by three dark silhouettes, considerably bigger.

"What happened with Snape?" panted Sirius' voice as the tallest figure overtook Pomy and came to an abrupt halt next to James' kneeling form.

"How do you know it was Snape?" asked James bitterly. He was annoyed to hear how thick his voice was, as blood lazily dripped from his nose and into his mouth, filling it with an insipid, coppery taste.

"We ran into him and he had your glasses in his hand – or rather, what was left of them," answered Remus' voice. "And when he saw us he tried to sneak off into the crowd. Looked really guilty."

"But we were quicker than him," added Sirius with satisfaction. "The git is still struggling to disentangle himself from his dirty robes."

"Master James, Master James, I is so sorry!" sobbed Pomy, throwing herself at James' neck and hugging him tightly. "Pomy was carried away, and then Pomy tried to find Master James, but he was nowhere to be seen, oh, Master, Pomy was so worried! Pomy found Master James' trunk and took it to the train, and then Pomy found Master Sirius and Master Remus and Master Peter, and Pomy was so happy!"

"We're going to miss the train!" cut in Peter's urgent voice. "James, can you walk or…?"

"Of course I can walk," James snapped irritably. "My _nose_ is broken, not my legs! But I can't see a thing!"

"Here, Master," hiccoughed Pomy; and the elf's little wrinkled hand pushed a round and cool object into James' hand. "Pomy mended them."

"Thanks," said James hastily as he put his glasses back on and finally scrambled to his feet. "Go home, Pomy, and there's no need to tell Mum about the whole glasses thing —she'd worry."

"Goodbye, Master James!" squeaked Pomy as James, Sirius, Peter and Remus started to run towards the train, which was now blowing a billowing cloud of dark smoke while a strident whistle called for the latecomers. James waved goodbye at the little elf just before jumping through the door a prefect was holding open for them. The other three followed suit.

"Thanks," panted James at the prefect while Sirius, Remus and Peter tried to catch their breath. A last whistle resounded and the train lurched. It had been close.

"No problem," said the prefect. "What happened to your face?"

"Hum —fell over," lied James. "I think my nose's broken."

The prefect glanced at her watch.

"Look, I have to go to the prefects' compartment—I'll do my best to fix your nose, but I can't promise you anything. Stay still."

James tried his hardest to mask his anxiety as the girl hesitantly pointed her wand at his nose. She did not look as if she knew what she was doing at all. He could feel his friends eyeing the pair of them warily.

"_Episkey._"

His nose suddenly felt very hot, then very cold. The pain subsided and the flow of blood seemed to ease, then stopped completely. The girl looked a bit reassured.

"I doubt it'll last long, but at least you won't bleed for the whole trip," she said cheerily. "Now try to find yourselves a compartment —I really have to go."

"Thanks!" James called as she hurried away in the corridor, heading for the head of the train. She addressed him a vague wave and disappeared.

Remus led the way to a compartment at the very end of the train. Their four trunks, including James', were waiting for them in the middle of the compartment, and they struggled for a good half an hour to haul them up in the luggage rack. By the time they had finally settled, it was almost midday and they were all starving.

"The food trolley should be there soon," said Remus, as he absentmindedly rubbed his rumbling stomach.

Sirius groaned. "I do hope she hurries up, I could eat Peter."

"Maybe I can help you in a different way," said Peter, smiling but looking at Sirius with a slightly wary expression nonetheless. "I've brought sweets and cakes and—oh no…"

"What?" they all asked.

"Everything's in my trunk," answered Peter miserably.

The other three stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then slowly raised their heads to gaze at Peter's trunk. As luck would have it, it was at the very bottom of the rack, blocked under Remus' trunk.

"No way," said James with a shake of his head. "I'm not getting down _two_ trunks. You'll have to eat Peter, Sirius."

Sirius began to stare at chubby Peter with a frightful glint in his eyes, and Peter, feeling the urge to change the subject, hastily asked James,

"So, what _did_ happen with Snivellus on the platform?"

James sighed and pulled an exasperated hand through his hair. His right eye was still half-closed and a dull ache was developing in his temple. "Nothing important," he replied. "I fell over and he kicked my glasses off my face, and after that he started leering at me, and he even got out his wand; but before he could use it, Malfoy came and told him off for doing things like that when everyone could see him. And that's it."

"You look really awful, though," said Remus anxiously. "Your eye's all swollen. And I'm not sure that prefect fixed your nose correctly –"

"Why, is it upside-down or what?" asked James worriedly. He _knew_ the girl had messed up her spell.

Sirius chuckled. "No, but still, you're not a pretty sight. You're covered in blood and I think your nose is all bruised. It took a funny colour, at any rate. And—there, it's bleeding again!"

Sure enough, James could feel a drop of warm liquid slowly trickle down his upper lip again. He swore.

"_What _am I supposed to do now?" he asked furiously. "Her spell didn't even last an hour!"

"Maybe you should go to the Prefects' compartment," suggested Remus. "The Head Boy and Girl should be there. _They_ would mend your nose."

"Yeah, and by the time I've found that Prefects' compartment, I will have bled everywhere for all the Slytherins to see," replied James. "No thanks."

"_And_ you could faint for the loss of blood," added Peter.

James blinked.

"That too," he admitted at last.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" said Remus, throwing his hands up in the air with annoyance. "You can't keep bleeding all over your clothes. _I_ can go and fetch a Head student for you if you'd rather not be seen, but in the meantime, you shouldn't stay here."

"A'd where do you wand be do go?" James asked as he held his sleeve against his nose in a futile attempt to stem the flow.

"There's a bathroom at the end of the train," Remus answered patiently. "You could wash your face and maybe find tissues or cotton for your nose. And I'm going to go and find someone—"

"No, I'll do that," interrupted Sirius. "I'm not staying here getting bored while the pair of you is having fun."

James, who was busy swallowing a mouthful of the blood that filled his mouth, shot at Sirius a furious look that clearly said, 'Do you really think I'm _having fun?_' Nevertheless, reckoning they had wasted enough time as it was, he bit back the retort he longed to throw at his best friend and rose to his feet. Sirius followed him out of the compartment.

"See you in a minute," he said cheerfully before walking lightly away.

James sighed exasperatedly and headed for the bathroom; thankfully, it wasn't too far away from their compartment: he could see he was already leaving a trail of bloody droplets on his way.

He grabbed the handle of the bathroom door and pushed—just to find, to his utmost irritation, that the door was locked from the inside.

"Just a minute!" said a girl's voice from inside the bathroom.

James groaned as he leaned against the wall, still holding his bleeding nose. Just his luck. The one time he really needed to get into the bathroom, there was a _girl _locked up in it.

He let himself slide down the wall in a sitting position on the vibrating floor. The girl was really taking her time. Pinching his nose between two fingers, he banged on the door with his other hand, leaving instantly a bloody mark on the polished wood. James cursed.

"Hurry up id there!" he roared.

"Coming, coming!" the girl shouted back.

And surely enough, a few seconds later he heard the doorknob rattle as the girl fumbled with it, then the door flung open, revealing the smiling face of a girl about his age.

"See, I didn't take too l—_Potter_?"

James looked up from his sitting position at the girl's horrified face. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember who she was for the life of him. That was weird, as she was probably in his year; otherwise she wouldn't have recognised him so quickly.

"Oh my God!" squealed the girl, dropping to her knees at his side. "What _happened_ to you? You're bleeding all over the floor! Oh dear, if I had known, I would have let you in sooner! Do you want me to go and fetch somebody? Potter? Potter? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes!" said James hastily, a bit alarmed by the girl's franticness. Did he look that bad? "I'm fide, really, I jus' need to get indo dat bathroob…"

"Oh yes, of course," said the girl, so quickly she stumbled over her own words. "Here, let me help you."

And before he could say another word, the girl gently took hold of his upper arm and tugged on it, forcing him to his feet.

"Danks," said James awkwardly. If only she could let go of him now, so that he could dash in the bathroom and lock the door behind him….He had a bleeding nose and a bruised self-esteem to nurse…

To his utter horror, though, the girl gave him a kindly smile and slid her arm around his waist, with the visible intention of supporting him in case he should faint or feel too weak to walk on his own.

"Danks, but I can madage –" he began, horribly embarrassed. But the girl wasn't listening. She dragged him into the bathroom and forced him to sit on the stool, authoritatively waving away his protestations.

"Let me help you," she ordered, rather than asked, decidedly.

James finally gave up; the girl would not hear him, and he was only embarrassing himself further when begging her to leave him alone. He mournfully wondered how much he would have to pay her to make sure she wouldn't talk about that to anybody. That story would make Snivellus laugh his greasy head off for the whole term…

The bathroom was a tiny room, barely larger than a cupboard; most of the available space was taken by a huge porcelain sink, gleaming in the light diffused by an oil lamp fixed to the wall and lazily swaying with the movements of the train. A large, spotless mirror covered most of the wall opposite the door, just above the sink.

The girl was now fumbling with the drawers piling up under the sink; she finally dug up in a drawer an impressive mass of white fluffy cotton, with a triumphant 'Ha!'

James diverted his eyes from this ominous sight and glanced in the mirror; he grimaced as he saw himself in it. He was rather pale and covered in blood; a spectacular black eye was developing behind his scratched glasses and his nose itself was all bruised.

Then he noticed something else. Something _really weird._

The girl's reflection had short black hair. But the girl—the real one, the one who was now standing in front of him, waving threateningly a limp mass of cotton drenched in cool water before his face – had brownish hair. No, not brownish—_greenish._ It fell in muddy strands around her pale freckled face, clashing horribly with her vivid-green eyes. He _knew_ that face…

James suddenly raised one hand to stop the ball of wet cotton advancing towards his nose.

"Wait —_Evans?_" he blurted out, not bothering to hide the astonishment in his voice.

The girl raised her eyebrows at him.

"Well, yes," she answered as she slapped his hand away and started dabbing his face with the wet cotton. "Why? Don't tell me you had already forgotten me!"

"No, no!" answered James hastily. He had learned the hard way it wasn't a pleasant experience to find oneself at the receiving end of Lily Evans' wand when she was angry. "It's just…"

The situation was tricky. He was sitting, whereas she was standing; he did not have his wand with him and he was already all beaten up, when she looked in top form. She clearly was in position of superiority. He had better not upset her if he did not want to earn another black eye. He swallowed and spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully in his attempt to avoid offending her.

"You know… as I remember you, well… your hair was… sort of… different…"

His voice trailed away, and for the first time he really hoped Evans was going to resume her nursing activities and forget he had ever said anything. He was quite sure she had had flaming red hair last time he had seen her; as a matter of fact, he and Sirius had never missed an opportunity to tease her mercilessly about her carrot-coloured head through all previous year. He was treading on thin ice.

But to his great surprise, Lily Evans' face broke into a smile and she proudly tucked a strand of her short, horrible green hair behind her ear.

"Do you like it?" she cooed.

James gaped at her. She was acting as if she was _delighted _her hair had taken that mucky colour. And he was supposed to _like it_ as well?

"Er," he spluttered. "Well, you know, er…"

"Now you can't call me CarrotHead anymore," she said cheerfully.

James dumbly shook his head.

"No, I can't," he said truthfully. He privately thought _MudHead_ would be far more appropriate a nickname now; but he wisely decided not to voice his thoughts aloud.

Lily Evans giggled as she resumed her mopping of his face. "I was so sick of having red hair," she said in a light tone, as if she was chatting with a girlfriend of hers. The thought made James grimace. "It wasn't even red. It was _orange._ I looked like a blazing pumpkin. Dark hair suits me much better, doesn't it?"

James watched her blankly for a few seconds before realisation hit him. The mirror. The black-haired reflection. She thought she had—

"It's a Muggle dyeing I mixed with that powder of dragon scale Slughorn gave me last year," Evans babbled on. "That's what I've been doing in the bathroom. It took me almost an hour. If my calculations are right – and I'm pretty sure they are – dragon scale makes the dyeing last longer."

"Oh," said James, willing himself not to laugh. "Er—much longer?"

"At least three to four months," she answered with satisfaction.

James bit the inside of his cheeks to prevent himself from grinning. "Wow, really long then. You're sure you won't get bored of it before it fades?"

"If you had spent eleven years with people calling you _CarrotHead_ all the time, you would be keen on changing your hair colour, too," she retorted. "There's _no way_ I'm going to get back to my former orange hair."

"Oh," said James again, a little awkwardly. "Well… Okay then. Er, listen—that's really nice from you to help me and all, but I think I can manage now… Actually I'd rather be on my own, if you don't mind…"

"Oh my God, I didn't even ask you what had happened to you," Evans said immediately, looking concerned. "Were you bullied? Were you all alone against them? Did they hurt you really badly? Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? It's no good keeping all that to yourself, you know, that's what the people who beat you up want! You need to—"

"Really, Evans," James interrupted loudly. "Thanks for the offer, but I'd _like_ to be alone right now."

She slowly put aside the mass of damp cotton and looked at him gravely.

"Fine," she said, so solemnly James was tempted to laugh again at the ridiculousness of it all. "But if you ever need to talk about it, I'll be there, all right?"

"All right."

She finally backed out of the bathroom, smiling at him in such genuine concern that James felt a slight pang of guilt for not telling her about her hair colour. When the door shut at last behind the green-haired Lily Evans, he rose and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was feeling a little light-headed and had to grip the edge of the sink quite hard to steady himself.

"It's not right to trick innocent students," he said in the mirror's direction, with a shake of his head. "That hair thing was a blow below the belt."

"On top of her head, I'd rather say," replied his reflection with a cheeky grin. "Appearance-consciousness is a nasty defect._You_ look horrible, by the way. I think you're whiter than the sink."

James was about to retort when someone knocked on the door.

"James? Are you in there?" asked Sirius' muffled voice.

"Yes," James called back. Or at least, tried to call—for it came out as a rather feeble mumble. He was feeling a bit sick, all of sudden.

"Okay, step aside," snapped a commanding voice. Next second the door opened and a tall and rather fat girl came in, her wand in her hand. A shining badge reading the words _Head Girl_ was pinned to her massive chest.

"How's your nose?" asked the girl brusquely.

"Doesn't hurt anymore," James answered as he sat back on the stool. The ground was oddly swaying under his feet. "Just bleeds a little."

"Did you lose a lot of blood?"

The girl's voice echoed in the room, as if it came from very far away. James shook his head, trying to get rid of the funny whistling sound filling his ears. And why was his vision all blurred? There were colourful spots dancing in front of his eyes…

"Hey, can you hear me?"

Someone had grabbed him by the shoulder and was shaking him. James felt a vague twinge of annoyance through the fog drowning his brain. Why couldn't they leave him alone? All he wanted now was to close his eyes, curl into a ball and sleep for a few hours… or days…

"Hey, James! Stay with us!"

James registered a slapping sound in the distance. Then his cheek started to burn. Had Sirius just slapped him? He would have to ask him for explanations… later… much later…

"_Ennervate!_"

An electrical discharge shot through James' body, bringing him back to consciousness for a few seconds. He wearily opened his eyes—his lids were so heavy….How could he have ever been able to maintain them open every day, for hours at a time?

His surroundings were a light, colourful blur. He felt the cold tiled floor under him, though he did not remember ever lying down. He had a furred tongue and he could tell he was about to be engulfed once more into icy vertigo. He raised his head with some difficulty to stare into the two faces bent over him.

"I think I'm going to pass out," he informed them in a thick voice.

Someone swore and someone else called his name in a panicky voice. But it was no longer James' problem. His eyes fell shut once more and he let himself slide away into nothingness.

--------------------

It was like emerging from a viscous black liquid. His limbs were heavy and inert, and his skull seemed to have been filled with lead; he doubted he would ever be able to stand up again. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like a foreign body, swollen and lifeless. He had undeniably felt better.

He lifted one eyelid. Well, it was a start. He could vaguely distinguish an off-white ceiling from which hung what looked like an oil lamp, swinging back and forth at a steady rhythm. Obviously, he did not have his glasses on.

"Hey, the little first-year is awakening!"

A shadow drew closer and bent over him.

"You all right, Potter?" asked a girl's voice.

James opened his other eye. "M' not a firs' year," he mumbled thickly. "Secon' year."

The girl straightened up with a sigh of relief. From a distant point on James' right, the first voice spoke again,

"How is he?"

"He's talking, or at least he's trying to," answered the girl at James' bedside. "I think he'll be all right. I'm not letting him get up before we get to Hogwarts, though. Can you send an owl to Madam Pomfrey? She'll want to check on him… And try to catch the food trolley on your way. He needs to eat something or he'll faint again."

James registered the sound of footsteps retreating, then the slamming of a door. The girl sitting next to him rose and walked away, and he heard her rummaging in her trunk. Soon she was back at his side.

"Here," she said as she pushed something against his lips. Taken unawares, James opened his mouth, allowing her to shove whatever she was holding into it. He recognised the taste of a Pumpkin Pasty. He started to chew with some difficulty: his jaw was curiously slack and his tongue was still dry.

"That's all I have," said the girl briskly. "There's a lot of sugar in it, it should give you a fillip… Morrington—that's the Head Boy—went to get you some lunch. By the way, I'm Rosanna Lynch, the Head Girl."

James gave up on chewing the pasty and swallowed it whole. It was very acidic in spite of the sugar coating and he felt his eyes watering.

"How long have I been here?" he asked in a quite hoarse voice, all the while groping feebly for his glasses on the floor. Rosanna Lynch noticed his vague movements, and she obligingly picked up his glasses and placed them on his nose for him.

"Almost a half an hour. You scared us stiff," she answered. "So, what happened to your face?"

James slowly lifted one hand and gingerly felt his nose. It wasn't painful anymore. His eyes were both normally open – his black eye had been healed as well, it seemed. At least he wouldn't give Snivellus the satisfaction of showing up in the Great Hall with a face in pieces.

"I healed the worst of it," said the Head Girl impatiently. "Did you hear my question? I need to know what happened, I have to report it to your Head of House. You had a fight, didn't you?"

"Huh? No," said James quickly. "Er… fell over. On the platform. Lots of—er...trolleys and people running everywhere…"

He flapped his hands around to illustrate his words. "You know, a complete confusion," he went on hastily. "I got a few accidental kicks in the face. That's all."

There was no way he would be taken for a snivelling kid, complaining to the Head Girl about being bullied. The Slytherins would only be too happy to have such an opportunity to tease him.

Rosanna Lynch raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. She wasn't buying his little story; it was time he should change the subject.

"Can I go back to my compartment, now?" he asked hopefully. "I'm feeling much better."

"No," said the Head Girl flatly. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to have your death on my conscience. I'm keeping you here for the rest of the trip; and when we arrive, I'll accompany you to the Hospital Wing."

"But—"

"And _now,_" she went on, speaking over him, "you're going to rest. I don't want to hear another word."

With those words, she got to her feet and walked to the door, ignoring James' protests. As she opened the door, she paused and turned around again.

"There's a bathroom—the door behind you," she said with a jerk of her chin in the direction of the bathroom. "Just don't lock yourself in it, okay? I don't want to be forced to break the door in case you pass out while you're in there. Morrington should bring your lunch in a few minutes."

And without so much as a goodbye, she withdrew and slammed the door shut behind her. James heard a key jangle in the lock, followed by the Head Girl's footsteps retreating in the corridor.

James slumped back on the seat that served as an improvised bed. The train was now running through vast sunbathed fields lined with skinny trees and plump little bushes, meticulously pruned. The sun was still very high in the bright blue sky; the train would not arrive at Hogwarts before at least six hours, maybe more.

James heaved an exasperated sigh. What a nice way to begin his second year.

--------------------

"Sirius, it's time we should get off the train," Remus ventured cautiously. He had already had to use all the persuasion he was capable of to convince Sirius to put on his Hogwarts robes, which his friend had finally agreed to do with painful slowness; the only idea of being forced to give battle a second time in order to make Sirius leave the train was discouraging him in advance.

"Oh, we have the time," Sirius answered with nonchalance. "We can wait for a minute or two—"

"No, we can't," Remus said tensely. "We _have_ to get off that train now, or it'll go back to London with us!"

"Everybody is getting out now," retorted Sirius. "Have you seen that confusion? If we wait for the crowd to clear a little –"

"Sirius," said Remus patiently, "I don't think James will come back to the compartment now."

Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets, and affected to stare at the dark patch of sky visible through the rectangular window; he was irritated at Remus for guessing so quickly the reason for his obstinate lingering in the compartment. Whenever he thought that James could come back to the compartment and find it empty because his three friends hadn't even bothered to wait for him, he almost grimaced with disgust at himself.

"You're not sure of that," he shot impatiently at Remus. "He could come back at the last minute for all we know!"

"A prefect told me he would be taken to the castle by the Head students," piped up Peter, who was already cloaked and ready to go.

Remus wheeled around. "How d'you know that?" he said with audible stupefaction.

"Well, I asked while I was looking for the food trolley," Peter answered, looking a bit worried at Remus' reaction. "I met a sixth year with a prefect badge on his chest and I asked him if he knew—"

"And you couldn't have said that sooner, could you?" snapped Sirius. Remus privately agreed: if only Peter had had the idea of sharing that piece of information, they would have avoided wasting time.

Peter shrugged. "No one asked me," he said simply.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but did not have the time to say anything else: the locomotive had emitted another high-pitched whistle, undoubtedly as a last warning for the remaining students aboard the Hogwarts Express—and Remus jumped in the air as if he had just received an electrical discharge. Snatching his cloak from one of the seats, he ran along the corridor, closely followed by Sirius and Peter. The three of them jumped out of the still open door; and they had just taken a few steps on the platform when every door of the train slammed shut with a loud bang.

Peter stopped and bent down, clutching a stitch in his ribs. He had the feeling he did a lot of running when he was around his friends. He did not have much time to recover, though. Half a second later, Sirius grabbed his arm and yelled in his ear,

"Hurry up, Peter! We're going to miss the carriage!"

"The what?" Peter screamed back; but Sirius and Remus were already running towards a great black diligence, standing on the road at about five hundred feet from the platform. Peter let out a moan but began trotting nonetheless as fast as his short legs could carry him, panting and wincing as his stitch felt like a dagger stuck between two ribs.

As he finally reached the waiting carriage, he dimly registered there was no horses between the shafts before Sirius seized his arm again and forcefully pulled him inside. The carriage was already full of girls, most of them older than they were, and there was no more seating available. After a few minutes of pushing, treading and apologising—from Remus—the three boys had to sit on the cold floor. As soon as they had settled, with some difficulty, the girls started chattering at the top of their voices, speaking over their heads as if they weren't even there.

Sirius, Remus and Peter exchanged a gloomy look. What a nice way to begin their second year.

The diligence lurched at last; and soon they were bumping along the rocky road that led to Hogwarts castle.

------------------

**A/N2: It's time I should thank Pete for his wonderfully long and detailed reviews… I love them. I was laughing aloud with happiness while reading the last one. **

**And of course, many thanks to all those who have been following this story since the very beginning, and who leave me such lovely reviews every time. Thanks for making my work so gratifying!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Of Broom Cupboards, Fights and Apple Pies**

A slight drizzle was falling by the time the carriage reached the flight of steps leading up to the giant oak doors of Hogwarts castle. Sirius, Remus and Peter trotted miserably out of the carriage and up the stairs, hurrying in order to keep up with the group of girls they had travelled with. The stone steps were wet from the dull and lazy rain, and in his haste to get into the castle, Sirius slipped on the sharp edge of a step and painfully fell on his hands and knees.

"Come on, Sirius, hurry up or we'll be late!" called Remus from the doors.

Sirius groaned as he laboriously scrambled to his feet and wiped his dirty hands on the back of his robes; his knee was badly bruised and made it difficult for him to climb the stairs, let alone run up them. He managed to limp into the Entrance Hall as fast as he could. Remus and Peter were waiting for him by the open door of the Great Hall, looking rather eager to get in.

But instead of running — or at least, trying to run — towards them, Sirius slowed down. A knot had suddenly tightened inside his chest when he had caught a glimpse of the Slytherin table through the wide open doors. The Slytherins were seated close to the doors of the Great Hall, whereas the Gryffindors were completely on the other side of the room. He would have to pass by the Slytherin table, late, limping, wet, and his clothes rumpled from his uncomfortable journey in the carriage, and then he would have to walk across the whole room, in full view of the Slytherins.

He didn't like the idea at all. As much as he had taken pride in being the black sheep of the Black family — all puns apart — at the beginning of his first year, the weeks he had just spent at 12, Grimmauld Place had greatly damaged his confidence on the matter. He had guessed, from what he had had to suffer over the summer, that his Slytherin relatives had finally taken upon themselves to make him pay dearly for being a traitor to his house and family. They would probably encourage the entire Slytherin house to point and laugh at him when he would come in — and he wasn't sure he could bear the humiliation.

"Sirius, what's the matter?" asked Remus impatiently.

The young werewolf was shifting his weight from one leg to the other, as if he was just barely restraining himself from running into the Great Hall as fast as possible. If he hadn't been so nervous at the idea of showing up late at the start-of-term feast, he would have probably been concerned at Sirius' odd shyness; but right now, the expression of uncertainty on Sirius' face only succeeded in making him want to grab his friend by the collar of his robes and forcibly drag him to the Gryffindor table — an idea that was nothing short of ludicrous, considering how much taller and stronger Sirius was.

Only the Black boy seemed to have left his usual confidence in the carriage.

"Well," Sirius began as he halted at a few feet from the door. "Well, you see, err… Actually… I'd — I'd rather not—"

"Sirius, if you don't hurry _up,_ I swear I'll—"

"Hey, Remus! Sirius! Peter!" called out a voice from above them. "Wait, wait for me!"

Never had James' quite shrill voice sounded so beautiful to Sirius' ears. Jumping on the occasion to break eye contact with Remus, he wheeled around and grinned at a perfectly healthy-looking James, who was standing at the top of the marble staircase. James raised an eyebrow at the visible relief on Sirius' face and uncertainly grinned back, before grabbing the banister with the obvious intention of walking down the stairs to meet them.

"Don't move!" called Sirius instantly. "Wait, I'm coming up."

"But—" spluttered Remus, just as James let out a groan of annoyance.

"_I_ can come down, I'm not made of glass," he said impatiently as Sirius climbed the stairs two steps at once to meet him, all pain in his knee apparently forgotten. "I already had a hard time getting rid of Pomfrey, I don't need _you_ fretting about me as well—"

"Shut up," hissed Sirius, barely loudly enough for James to hear him. They were only separated by half a dozen steps now, as James, ignoring Sirius' injunction, had begun going down the stairs.

Taken aback by Sirius' change of voice, James looked down at him questioningly and noticed, for the first time, the tense expression on his features. He slowed down and finally halted two steps above Sirius, who had stopped too in order to catch his breath, a hand on the stitch in his left side.

"Something wrong?" he asked cautiously, eyeing Sirius' face.

"Can we just avoid getting in there for the feast?" Sirius muttered through clenched teeth with a wave in the direction of the Great Hall. His eyes were obstinately fixed on the second button of James' shirt.

"_What_ are you doing?" Remus cried out from the foot of the stairs. "We're late! C'mon, hurry up!"

Sirius finally raised his head to meet James' eye.

"Please?" he breathed.

James gulped down, startled and more than a little concerned at the literally imploring look on Sirius' face. He had never seen him in such a state before. Though he was completely mystified as to why Sirius would be so keen on missing the feast, he knew there was no point in asking for explanations now — but he was certain the reason was important. He nodded briefly at Sirius and slowly walked around him to face his two other friends.

"You, err, you're sure you want to attend the feast?" he asked in a falsely light tone.

Remus' eyes widened, half in surprise and half in indignation, and he remained speechless for a few seconds.

"Why on _earth_ are you asking me that?" he finally blurted out, his voice higher than usual. "We're _late,_ James! If we don't get in before the Sorting starts, McGonagall will be furious and she might tell _Dumbledore _about it and—"

"That's my point!" James hastily interrupted. "Why do you care about the Sorting? Or about Dumbledore's speech? Chances are it'll be the same as last year."

"But McGonagall—"

"Do you really think she'll even notice we're not there?" James argued hotly.

Even when putting aside his wish to help Sirius, he was beginning to like this idea of missing the feast; the castle was theirs for at least three hours, with no teachers, prefects or caretaker in their way…

"Think about what we could do while they're all in there," James insisted. "We can explore the castle! Find secret passageways and rooms! Or even — try to go up the towers! No one's going to stop us!"

"But — but—"

"But I'm hungry," Peter helpfully completed, earning himself a grateful look from Remus.

"Well, why don't we start with looking for the kitchens then?" Sirius promptly suggested. "I'm curious as to how the house-elves work in there…"

"House-elves?" Remus repeated, distracted by this bit of information. "How do you know there are house-elves here? I've never even seen one."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who d'you think cook our meals and clean our dorms?" he asked with a hint of condescension in his voice. "Filch?"

Peter giggled while Remus grimaced at the image of Argus Filch making their beds in their dormitory, his cat trailing behind him.

"You must be right," he grudgingly admitted. "But — but what if the kitchens are out of bounds?"

"So what?" asked James with a short laugh. "No one will ever find out!"

"Actually that sounds like a great idea to me," Peter piped up.

"Perfect," said Sirius and James at the same time.

"But — but you don't even know where they are!" Remus said in a last desperate effort.

"That should be easy enough to find," James replied nonchalantly while he and Sirius walked down the stairs to meet the other two. "They're either on the ground floor, or in the basement — probably directly below the Great Hall. That's how most old wizarding houses are organised."

"Look, I'm not sure—"

"You want to go inside that Hall, Remus?" Sirius abruptly shot at him.

"What do you think I've been saying for the past—"

"Well, fine by me. Go in there."

Silence suddenly fell upon the four boys. James and Sirius were on the bottom step of the staircase, Peter beside them, while Remus still stood rather close to the Great Hall doors. All uncertainty had vanished from Sirius' face as he glared at Remus, his jaw set and his bottom lip curled in disdain. A cold shiver ran up James' spine as he was irresistibly reminded of Mrs. Black; and he simultaneously made the vow to never tell Sirius just how much he looked like his mother at times.

Remus also seemed to have noticed, for the first time, the uncharacteristically grim expression on Sirius' face; and he had gone quite pale all of sudden.

"A-alone?" he finally stammered.

"Well, yes," Sirius coldly answered. "Or without me, at least."

Remus swallowed hard. Sirius' tone suggested that the other two would side with him if Remus chose to get inside the Great Hall, and Remus had no doubt he was right; James would go with Sirius, and Peter would follow James anywhere.

Loneliness had never scared Remus so much since he had first become friends with James, Sirius and Peter. But at the same time, a part of him refused to give in to Sirius, or to be impressed by his disdainful look and cold tone.

"Fine," he answered in a low voice, dropping his eyes as he finally made up his mind. "Have fun. I'll see you later."

He turned around and took two steps towards the doors — only to stop dead in his tracks, his heart beating wildly, as he heard footsteps approaching quickly from the inside of the Hall; and then Professor McGonagall's voice reached his ears, awfully close.

"Argus, I really don't have time for this, and nor does Professor Dumbledore. You'll have to sort this by yourself. I'm off to fetch the first-years, Hagrid should be here any minute now."

James was the first to snap out of the horrified trance McGonagall's voice had plunged them into.

"Quick!" he hissed, giving Sirius a not-so-gentle push between the shoulder blades. "Get into that broom cupboard!"

Springing into action, Sirius grabbed Peter by the arm and hastily dragged him into the semi-darkness of the corridor stretching on the right side of the marble staircase. James, in one leap, was at the foot of the stairs; in two strides he reached Remus, who seemed frozen on the spot, and seized his shoulder to force him to spin around.

"If she catches us—," he began, but Remus didn't give him the time to finish. Blindly grabbing James by the wrist, he sprang forward and rushed head-first into the cupboard while Sirius was holding the door open.

"Ouch — watch where you're going, it's not a bloody race—"

"SHH!"

Remus mechanically rubbed his shoulder, which was sore where it had painfully collided with Sirius, and allowed himself to lean against the wall; his heart was beating so hard that he half-expected to see it burst out of his ribcage. The wave of panic that had rushed over him at the thought of getting caught in the Entrance Hall by Professor McGonagall was slowly withdrawing, leaving him still sweaty and shaking, but at least able to think straight. He could now vaguely make out James' silhouette in the dark — he seemed to have his cheek pressed against the door. Sirius was two steps behind him, and Peter was lost somewhere in the darkness.

Their ragged breathings was the only sound breaking the tense silence in the dark cupboard as James listened intently to the noises coming from the Entrance Hall. McGonagall's quick footsteps echoed loudly in the high-ceilinged Hall as her heels hit the stone floor, making it hard to tell whether she was getting closer or edging further from them. He was almost sure she was walking towards the great oak doors — almost — but his grip on the handle tightened as a part of him still expected the door to fling open and McGonagall's tall silhouette to stand there, blocking their way out—

_Bang, bang, bang!_

All four boys jumped in surprise, Peter letting out a squeak that was quickly stiffened by Sirius' hand.

"That's just Hagrid," James breathed, sighing in relief as he heard McGonagall's crisp voice answering Hagrid's booming one.

"Merlin," said Sirius' voice weakly, somewhere behind him. "Does he need to knock on the door as if he was trying to break it down?"

A nervous chuckle — probably from Remus, since Peter still had Sirius' hand over his mouth — came from James' left at those words. James distractedly noted how utterly _panicked _Remus looked at the thought of being caught off bounds; indeed, his condition as a werewolf aside, that was the one thing that seemed able to make him completely lose his composure. Remus could really be annoying at times…

The sound of dozens of feet walking behind McGonagall, accompanied with the rustling of cloaks and robes, finally caught his attention. His heart started beating faster when he realised they were coming closer to their hiding place; but then again, what was he expecting? The small room in which the first-years were gathered before the Sorting wasn't very far from there…

After several minutes of waiting in the dark, the sounds faded away and died completely. James released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. Behind him, Sirius sighed noisily in relief.

"_Lumos._"

A ray of light erupted from Sirius' wand and James blinked as the beam of white light caught him in the eyes, dazzling him for a few seconds.

"Can you lower that wand?" he asked, a little more curtly than he intended. "And — and I think you can release Peter now…"

"Oh… right…"

Freed from Sirius' grip, Peter shot at James a grateful glance before cautiously stepping away, in the obvious attempt to put a respectable distance between him and Sirius. The latter slid to the floor in a sitting position among the mops and buckets that were the usual occupants of the cupboard.

"Well, it seems to me that we don't have a choice anymore, have we?" Sirius stated, not bothering to hide his glee. He wasn't looking at Remus. "We can't get in the Great Hall now, not when the Sorting is about to start…"

Remus hung his head, a defeated expression on his features.

"Fine," he said feebly. "Let's go find those kitchens then…"

"Ooh, but the kitchens may be _out of bounds!_" Sirius teased with a note of uncharacteristic cruelty in his voice. "Don't you want to stay in here until the end of the feast? But oh, wait, this cupboard is out of bounds too—"

"The path is clear!" James interrupted loudly. "Let's get out of here, I'm not too fond of this place."

"Yeah, a bit smelly for my taste," Peter cheerfully added as he walked around Sirius to join James at the door. "_And_ I'm still hungry."

For one second, Sirius looked as if he was about to retort; but then he closed his mouth and wordlessly got to his feet.

"_Nox,_" he muttered before putting his wand back inside his pocket.

James gripped the handle of the door again and, taking a deep breath, he opened it just wide enough for him to peer outside.

The corridor was empty.

James sneaked out of the cupboard, closely followed by Peter, Remus, and finally Sirius. The doors of the Great Hall were closed and no noise was filtering from them. They were probably in the middle of the Sorting.

"C'mon, before Peeves finds us," whispered Sirius.

"Where should we go now?" Peter asked in a low voice, his eyes round and wide in excitement.

"As James said before. In the basement, below the Great Hall."

"There are _dungeons,_ in the basement," Peter pointed out.

"Of course there are," Remus answered dryly. "If you go through the door on the left side of the staircase. But we never went through the door on the _right…_ I think the Hufflepuff common room is that way…"

"I can just picture those Hufflepuffs living near the kitchens," said Sirius with a derisive laugh, and James chuckled in echo.

Remus seemed to have a snappy reply on the tip of his tongue but he never answered. Retreating in a mournful silence, he followed James, Sirius and Peter as they closed in a few strides the space separating the cupboard from the door he had been referring to.

His sombre mood didn't lighten up when, after several minutes of walking down a long flight of stone steps, they finally found themselves in a brightly lit corridor on the walls of which hung many colourful pictures of bowls of fruits, still-life, feasts, and huge plates brimming over with fish, meat or vegetables.

"We are obviously getting close," James mumbled as he looked around, wide-eyed, at the generous display of painted food.

"Apple pie," Peter said with an expression close to longing.

Sirius, who had been massaging his rumbling stomach for some time now, heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Do you really need to describe all the pictures on the wall?" he snapped at Peter. "We have eyes, thank you. And I'm hungry enough without you reciting—"

"It's not a picture," Peter pointed out, looking oddly at Sirius. "It's the smell…"

James halted at those words and sniffed the air, frowning in concentration.

"I _think_ I can smell it too," he said doubtfully. "I'm not sure, though, it could be just my imagination…"

"Your imagination?" Peter repeated, visibly surprised. "I can smell it just as clearly as if the pie was right under my nose…"

James turned to face Peter, his eyebrows raised. The odour was so faint he had had trouble picking it up; yet Peter sounded absolutely certain, and that fact happened rarely enough for him to consider it seriously. Peter was still sniffing the air with a comically delighted expression, and he mechanically took a step forward with his nose in the air, just as if he was following a track.

"Perfect," said James aloud as he experienced a brilliant surge of inspiration.

"What's perfect?" asked Sirius irritably. "That Peter is starting to have hallucinations?"

"Peter, you go first," James went on, choosing to ignore Sirius. "We're following you."

Peter's small eyes widened to their fullest extent and he stared at James as if he was convinced his friend had been struck by a sudden fit of madness.

"I… What?" he stammered.

"Go first," James insisted. "The smell must be coming from the kitchens. Try to follow it!"

Peter went very red in the face and he shot at Sirius a hesitant glance, probably expecting a sarcastic remark, but Sirius was now busy smelling the air himself and didn't spare Peter a word. After a last look at James' eager face, Peter smiled timidly and turned away from them, holding his nose high in the air and sniffing loudly.

"It's ahead of us… I think," he finally said.

And so they went. Peter was first, his eyes half-closed as he tried not to lose the smell, then came James, then Sirius; and finally Remus lagged behind, still refusing to let a smile graze his lips.

Several times Peter abruptly stopped and he would have them turn around and go back, all the while muttering about "losing the smell". The comical side of their situation would not have failed to strike them if only they had not been so dreadfully hungry. After a few long minutes of pacing up and down the corridor without ever seeing a door, or even a niche, that would have broken the monotony of the pictures of food adorning the wall, they had to stop again. They were about halfway down the corridor — and still no sign of a kitchen whatsoever.

"Damn," Sirius grumbled. "We should've known the kitchens would be hidden. Do you think they're somewhere behind one of those paintings?"

"Most likely," James replied. They were in Hogwarts, after all; finding rooms or staircases dissimulated behind portraits was an everyday occurrence. "The smell is definitely the strongest here. Let's try to find the entrance."

They tried everything. They coaxed, asked, demanded and yelled; they ran their hands over the brightly coloured pictures, they poked the paintings with their fingers and their wands, they hit them, they even kicked the ones that were low enough on the walls, but nothing budged.

"Great idea," said Remus acidly at last; he had not taken any part in the search, merely observing the other three while he leant against the stone wall. "Looking for the kitchens. I'm having the time of my life."

"Nobody's preventing you from running back to McGonagall," Sirius snapped, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "What a _baby._"

"Baby?" Remus was flushing now, and his voice went half an octave higher. "Who is the baby here? _Who_ didn't want to go inside the Great Hall? _Who _ran to his best friend for support? _Who_ is a poor rich little boy?"

"Shut up!" Sirius screamed, instantly abandoning the picture he had been prodding and turning to face Remus completely. He had gone very pale and if looks could kill, Remus would probably have been reduced to a smoking pile of ashes.

"You have no idea what you're talking about! You're always in your mummy's skirts anyway, and at school you're following McGonagall around like a puppy. You don't have a clue—"

"Oh, I'm the one who doesn't know about the _hard life_ of poor Sirius Black? Since when do _you _have anything to complain about?"

"Oh that's right, I forgot you're convinced you're a victim! Just because you transform once a month into—"

"Both of you, pipe down!" James called out as loudly as he dared to. "Do you really want Peeves to hear you and get down here to see what's going on?"

The argument seemed convincing enough to Sirius, who bit back the rest of his sentence and turned away from Remus; his face was still very pale and his features were twisted in fury. As for Remus, from red, he had gone pale as well, and he was staring at Sirius' back as if he was seeing him for the first time.

"What?" he asked in a strangled voice.

James suddenly feared he might burst into tears and spoke up again.

"Look, neither of you knew what you were talking about," he tentatively said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "This is a stupid fight, can't you settle the matter later on? Right now, I'm so hungry I'll soon try to eat some of those paintings, so I'd rather we concentrate on finding the kitchens…"

"Done!" came Peter's cheerful voice from behind him.

James whirled around, inwardly thanking Peter for pulling him out of such an embarrassing situation — he wasn't exactly the sort who liked being a mediator; he'd rather be one of the fighters. However, the fight between Remus and Sirius flew right out of his head when his eyes fell upon Peter, standing in front of a painting with a wide smile on his round face. James thought he had personally poked and yelled at that particular painting over a hundred times and he wondered for a second what difference—

The pear. There used to be a _pear_ in the middle of the silver bowl of fruits, he was sure of it. Now, precisely where the round fruit had been, was a pale green door handle.

"How did you do that?" he blurted out.

"I tickled the pear," Peter answered, his round face literally glowing with pride. "Well I — I didn't exactly do it on purpose, it was more like — like rubbing my sleeve on it, then there was a dirty mark on the painting and I tried to dust it off—"

"Whatever," said Sirius brusquely.

He walked past Peter, seized the handle and resolutely pushed the door open. James caught a glimpse of his sullen face just before he disappeared inside of the large room beyond the painting, and thought that Sirius, just like himself, was probably a bit vexed at being beaten by little Peter…

James half-shrugged and, deciding it was time to listen to the loud complaint of his empty stomach rather than wondering further about the swings of mood of his friends, followed in Sirius' footsteps.

* * *

They remained in the kitchens for a good hour and a half, if not more. The gigantic room was buzzing with small house-elves clad in cloths wrapped around their thin and lithe bodies like togas; the air was filled with the sound of their high-pitched voices and their small feet tapping against the stone floor as they hurried on their skinny short legs, carrying huge plates loaded with food from every corner of the room, pushing them on the five tables that were the exact replicas of the tables of the Great Hall, one floor above them, yelling indications and orders to others, and occasionally whirling about and hastily curtseying if one of the four visitors happened to be in the vicinity.

James was deeply impressed to see that, no matter how incredibly busy they were, the house-elves still found the time and energy to bring them some food and ask them if they needed anything, all the while sporting wide, toothy smiles. The elves' good mood was contagious and he found himself grinning widely, in spite of Sirius and Remus' persistent sulking — something that usually never failed to spoil his pleasure.

Right now they could sulk all they wanted. He was currently filling his stomach with delicious food he got to choose himself, he was spared Dumbledore's start-of-term speech and he had discovered a new and totally out-of-bounds place, from which he could steal food any time he wanted. What else could he possibly ask for?

"You're going to be sick," said Remus dryly when James enthusiastically stuffed a third éclair in his mouth.

"Yes _Mum_," sniggered Sirius, who was sitting on the other side of James.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Whatever."

James swallowed with some effort his mouthful of éclair and, mimicking Sirius, turned to Remus:

"Yes _Mum,_" he said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, can't you just sit and enjoy the situation? Had you really rather be sitting up there—" He vaguely waved towards the ceiling of the kitchens to illustrate his words, "—than eating whatever you want here?"

Remus opened his mouth, seemed to change his mind and settled for a non-committal shrug; Sirius snorted before rising and walking away from them, all the while muttering audibly about killjoys. James gladly went back to his éclair.

"You heard him…"

James looked up in surprise. Remus wasn't directly gazing at him; actually he seemed fascinated by the contents of his half-filled plate. But then he spoke again in a low murmur, and James had to lean sideways to catch his words.

"You heard Sirius, earlier," Remus whispered. "He thinks I see myself as a victim, he — he has no clue what it's like…"

James sighed in resignation and regretfully put his éclair down.

"He probably doesn't," he reluctantly agreed. "On the other hand, you don't know anything about his family life and—"

"What? What's wrong with his family?"

Remus sounded slightly annoyed but James didn't fail to notice the curiosity in his voice.

"I know his mother's a little demanding, but—"

"You have _no idea_ how she is," James asserted firmly. "She's horrible. His parents aren't like mine or yours, they're… well, they are special…"

"What do they _do?_"

James shook his head.

"Can't tell," he said. "I promised Sirius I wouldn't."

"Of course," Remus mumbled dully.

He retired again in a thoughtful silence, abandoning his plate and resting his chin on the palm of his hand. James contemplated for a few seconds asking what was bothering him so much, but decided against it. He was under the impression that Sirius and Remus were ruining their first great expedition on purpose and he was a bit tired of their weird behaviour. Well, Remus had not behaved oddly — that was the problem, he had been much too Remus-ish — but Sirius, on the other hand, had been frankly odious to everyone except James himself…

_That's probably because he trusts me,_ James thought with a grin of satisfaction; but his smile soon faded as he recalled Sirius' imploring expression, when he had asked him not to go inside the Great Hall. _I don't know what the hell happened at his place, but it must be pretty serious if he can't even face the others in the Great Hall…_

James sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Why did he have to be the only _normal _one?

"James, we should go."

James' head snapped up as Remus' voice roughly pulled him out of his musings.

"Uh, sorry, you were saying?" he asked.

"We should go," Remus repeated patiently. "The elves are collecting the remains of the pudding and apple pie. The feast's over, we should get out of here and hide in a bathroom or something while they all go to the common rooms… Someone might come to the kitchens and find us here if we stay…"

"Good point," James agreed.

He put two other éclairs in his pocket and got to his feet. He felt heavy and he experienced a slight pang of guilt; he had eaten way too much. He shook his head to get rid of the importunate thought and, standing up on tiptoes and squinting in his attempt to find them in the crowd of house-elves bustling about, he called Sirius and Peter's names.

They arrived about a minute later. Remus, surprisingly enough, had not expressed the slightest impatience as he waited by the open door of the kitchen. James was grateful for that; he had the distinct feeling that, in spite of the content grin on his lips, Sirius was still as tense as a bow.

They hurried along the corridor, up the stairs and past the door of the cupboard that had saved their lives a few hours earlier. They were almost at the top of the marble staircase when they heard, coming from the closed doors of the Great Hall, the scraping of benches announcing the end of Dumbledore's speech. They just had the time to rush inside of a bathroom before the flow of students started to pour out of the Great Hall.

"That was close," Sirius sighed as he leant against the door of the bathroom. From the sound of it, the first students were already at the top of the marble stairs, in full view of the bathroom.

"Yeah," James muttered in answer.

His body was protesting against the run he had imposed on it right after the feast they had had in the kitchens. He distractedly massaged his aching stomach, grimacing as a bitter aftertaste lingered in his mouth — that fourth éclair, most likely. On his left, Peter was sitting on the floor, his face sweaty and slightly green. As for Remus, he was leaning against a sink and looking relatively unaffected by their latest race; he still had the faraway look James had noticed on his face, down in the kitchens.

"Let's get out now," Sirius abruptly said. "Or we'll be stuck out of the common room. We don't know the password."

Peter let out a kind of moan when he heard he had to get up again, but the fear of being locked out of the common room was stronger than his desperate need to lie down for the next couple of days; and they all laboriously got to their feet and proceeded to merge into the crowd of chattering students still walking past the door of the bathroom.

Their trip to the common room was eventless. They didn't linger in the room itself, where there wasn't any room left for them anyway, and went directly up to their dormitory. Their trunks were waiting at the foot of their beds and the fifth occupant of the dormitory, Anthony Bollurish, was busy fixing a poster to the wall above his bedside table.

"Where have you guys been?" he asked when they entered the room, his mouth gaping in comical bewilderment.

"In the Great Hall, like everybody," James muttered without looking at him. "Where else?"

He walked to his trunk, opened it and pulled out a pair of pyjamas. He could feel Anthony's eyes fixed on the back of his neck as he changed; he waited, holding his breath, until he finally heard Anthony say, "Yeah, right…" in a low voice, then, to his intense relief, climb inside his bed without further comment. The others imitated him one after the other, and soon the whole dormitory was dark and silent.

* * *

Later that night, James was relentlessly turning over and over in his bed, one minute pushing the sheets away from him, the next pulling them back over him and coiling them tightly around his body. He couldn't seem to find a comfortable position. He finally got out of bed, grabbing his glasses on his way, and went inside the small bathroom — containing only a sink and a toilet — that adjoined the dormitory.

Just as he was pouring water from the sink into a small glass, the door opened with a slight creaking noise and a ruffled-looking Sirius in grey pyjamas slipped inside the bathroom.

"You still up?" James croaked.

Sirius mutely nodded in answer. James surveyed him over his glass of water: his best friend was chewing nervously on his lower lip and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, visibly torn between two conflicting feelings, as if he really wanted to say something but didn't know if he should. James, who thought he knew what all this was about, purposefully let him squirm on the spot for a minute more — he had been really annoying all evening, after all — before asking:

"So, why didn't you want to go inside the Great Hall?"

Sirius sighed and gripped his hair with both hands, in an exasperated gesture he frequently made, before answering with his eyes attached to the tiled floor.

"My Mum, of course. And everything else… It wasn't only my Mum this summer. Well, it was _mainly_ her, as usual; but the worst part of it was my cousins. Bellatrix, Narcissa and a few others — all of them in Slytherin, of course, I even had Malfoy as a bonus. They stayed at the house for a few weeks; my parents must've called them and asked them to talk to me. Well, they _did _talk to me. Basically, if I don't behave like a true Slytherin, and they perfectly know I can't do that because I'm in bloody _Gryffindor—_"

He paused in the middle of his sentence and licked his lips, staring down at his hands, which were shaking slightly. He clasped them tightly together in an attempt to stop their trembling.

"…Then what?" James tentatively asked.

Sirius licked his lips again, and he couldn't prevent the slight quivering in his voice as he went on:

"…They'll make me pay. They'll hex me in the corridors, in the classrooms, everywhere they can. They will make a fool of me. And they will encourage all their fellow Slytherins to do the same. That's what they told me. And I didn't want to give them an opportunity tonight…"

James' stomach lurched unpleasantly at the memory of Lucius Malfoy smirking at them. Malfoy was in his seventh year, and in a very good position if he wanted to cause problems for them. As the leading Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team, it wasn't impossible he would enjoy a sort of impunity from Horace Slughorn, his Head of house. Sirius had good reasons to be worried…

"We're not giving them any opportunity to bother us, okay?" he said, more firmly than what he felt. "And if they try to bother us anyway, we'll fight back. We won't let them get away with it."

"How do you want to do that?" Sirius shot at him, something like despair in his voice. "They're almost all older than we are, and they know much more about magic. Besides, they're all at Malfoy's boot, and his family is so influent that he will probably get away with anything."

"He won't!" James hotly retorted. "Look, I don't really know what we're going to do — but we're the most gifted students in our year! I'm sure we can think of something. We'll slip them weird potions, put ugly living things in their bags, or hex them as we did last year, remember? If they want to mess with us, we'll have them pay for it."

A reluctant grin spread on Sirius' pale and tense face at James' words, and he seemed to calm down a bit.

"I guess we can do that," he hesitantly agreed. "Or try, at least… Yeah, I'm definitely getting some ideas."

"Me too," James promptly said. "And I have the feeling we're going to have a lot of fun."

They exchanged a wide grin over the sink still separating them.

"Thanks," said Sirius at last in a low voice, and that simple word was so obviously heartfelt that James' throat constricted painfully.

"You're welcome," he awkwardly answered, hating the emotion that was gripping him all of sudden. He forced himself to take a cheerier voice when he added, "Oh, and in the meantime, try to be less of an ass to the rest of us, okay? Peter and Remus are probably still wondering what they've done to you."

Sirius rolled his eyes, although he couldn't help grinning at the same time.

"Peter is clueless, but I guess I was too much of an ass to him," he grudgingly admitted. "As for Remus, he was _worse_ than I was! The way he kept whining about us being _out of bounds_, it made me want to strangle him… And afterwards, when he attacked me about being rich…"

"Well, you _did_ tell him he was always in his mum's skirts, and that he thought of himself as a victim," James pointed out, wanting to be fair.

"That's true," Sirius retorted; and he lowered his voice before continuing. "Honestly, even if he is — what he is, he has loving parents, friends, and he can go to school like any other kid! He only has to transform once in a while, and that's a pretty cool thing if you ask me, even if he bites himself a bit in the process…"

James shuddered slightly as he remembered the abominable night he had spent under the Shrieking Shack, listening to Remus' howls of fury and pain. He doubted he could ever explain to Sirius how it felt to be there, useless witness of a friend's atrocious suffering, for an entire night.

He had to try, though. Sirius had to understand it wasn't a _cool__thing_ to transform into a werewolf. He cleared his throat and looked up into Sirius' face; his best friend had taken the glass from him and was now drinking large gulps of water.

"Sirius…"

Sirius lowered the glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah?" he asked.

James opened his mouth, and simultaneously felt all his energy abandon him. He couldn't. He couldn't go through that night again. Not now…

"I — I'm going back to bed," he stammered. "Night."

"Night," said Sirius, instantly returning his attention to his glass of water.

James walked round him and slipped out of the bathroom as quietly as possible, all the while trying to ignore the small voice in his head that kept calling him a coward. He cautiously felt his way to his bed in the dark, and upon reaching it — though not before hitting his toe on the foot of his bedside table and biting back a curse — he gladly climbed into the sheets.

The problem was, someone was already there.

"What the—"

"Shh! It's me," whispered an urgent voice undoubtedly belonging to the intruder.

"_Remus?_ What are you doing on _my _bed?"

"I need to talk to you."

James groaned.

"Not you as well!" he complained. "Do I have to listen to everyone's problems? I'm not your _mum_—"

"I know. But it's the last time, I promise."

The final tone in Remus' voice shut James up. With a resigned sigh, he sat cross-legged on his bundled covers and waited for Remus to say something.

After a short while, during which he was probably trying to find the right words, Remus slowly began:

"I know you thought I was behaving like a baby tonight. The truth is, I — I don't want to break the rules. Dumbledore went through all that trouble to make sure I would be safe in his school, and… Well, me breaking the rules, it's a little as if I was ungrateful—"

"Remus—"

"Let me finish… I know I shouldn't have insisted so much about going inside the Great Hall tonight. I actually enjoyed going with you to the kitchens. And if I had known about Sirius' Slytherin relatives, I would never—"

"Wait… How do you know about that?" James abruptly interrupted.

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"I, huh, I heard the end of your conversation," Remus finally admitted, speaking very fast. "I wasn't eavesdropping, I wanted to come here and talk to you and I heard your voices coming from the bathroom…"

James took off his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes. If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit he was relieved that he no longer had to explain Sirius' situation to Remus. He was getting fed up with trying to reconcile everybody.

"Fine, well, it's probably better that way," he said gruffly. "Don't tell Sirius, though. He wouldn't be too happy about it."

"I won't," Remus hastily assured him. "So, err… You remember I said I would go alone to the start-of-term feast, right? When Sirius asked me if I wanted to, at the foot of the stairs?"

"Yes," James hesitantly said, "but—"

"It won't happen again."

James blinked once or twice, taken aback by Remus' brusque assertion.

"I wasn't judging you," he said slowly at last. "Sirius was being a bit of a git… Maybe I would've done the same, just to annoy him."

Remus leant forward, his eyes glinting in the darkness of the dormitory.

"I'm serious, James," he said urgently. "It won't happen again, I swear. I don't want to be the teachers' lapdog, I want to be your friend. I won't go all 'this is against the rules' again, I promise."

James raised an eyebrow.

"Never?" he repeated teasingly. "I doubt you'll be able to achieve that without rupturing yourself, but you can still try!"

Remus laughed weakly.

"I can still try," he said, echoing James. "Come to think of it, if you're doing something really dangerous I'll probably try to talk you out of it first, but you can be sure I will _never_ run to a teacher. Ever."

James nodded thoughtfully. He felt as if a great weight had been taken off his chest; for he had feared many times in the evening that Remus and Sirius could no longer remain friends because of Remus' quasi-veneration of the school rules.

If his stomach would just stop dancing the tango now, he would be absolutely _great…_

"…Well, that is, if you can convince Sirius that transforming isn't as fun as he seemed to think," Remus went on. "Because honestly, I don't think he really understands."

"He probably doesn't," James agreed as he crossed his arms over his chest and bent double, in an attempt to ease a little his stomach ache. "But I'll find a way to make him understand, I promise."

"Thanks," said Remus, sounding deeply relieved. "Well, that's all I — James? You okay?"

"Get out of my way," James answered in a strangled voice.

Literally throwing himself out of his bed, he ran as fast as he could to the bathroom — not without bumping into several pieces of furniture on his way — and rushed inside. He ran past an astounded Sirius Black, almost knocking him off his feet, and reached the toilet just in time.

As he was being violently sick, his aching stomach forcefully rejecting the too abundant dinner he had had in the kitchens, he vaguely heard Remus joining Sirius in the bathroom and standing there behind him. Then, after what felt like a horribly long time, he finally stopped retching and immediately swallowed long and avid gulps of air, his eyes closed and refusing to see the mess he had involuntarily created, the acrid smell of sick and the persistent burn in his throat causing him to grimace. Sweat was running down his forehead and the arms on which he was leaning — cold and clammy hands gripping the sides of the porcelain pan — were shaking badly. It was easily the worst he had ever felt.

"If one of you," he said in a slightly shaky voice, his eyes still closed and his back still turned to the other two, "even _thinks_ of uttering the words _I-told-you-so,_ I'll have to stick his head down this toilet."

There was a few seconds' silence, then Sirius and Remus simultaneously burst out laughing.

* * *

A/N: Much more was supposed to happen in this chapter, but I once again yielded to the temptation of looong character development and interaction. I hope you weren't bored, because I certainly wasn't :P.

Being quite busy with my studies, I stole some of my sleep time to type most of this chapter — actually it's now 04:17 and I _kind__of_ have classes tomorrow — so I hope you'll understand when I say I can't update any of my stories on a regular basis right now; it's a miracle I can update at all, actually.

Please believe I'm the first to be sorry about it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Of Disturbed Stomachs, Green Hair, and Ballet**

"He's still asleep?"

"Think so — disturbed stomach, I think…"

"_Still?_"

"Well yeah, he was sick yesterday night…"

His friends' voices gradually broke through the thick fog filling James' head. He felt remarkably like when he had done in the Hogwarts Express, after fainting in the small bathroom. Hoisting one eyelid with considerable effort, he was greeted with the sight of a dark red blur, which, he concluded after giving the matter much thought, must have been the inside of the curtains of his bed. This meant two things, he went on, his foggy brain meticulously taking tiny step after tiny step in this elaborate reasoning: one, he was in his bed at Hogwarts; two, it was daytime, since he could actually _see _the curtains.

The logical conclusion of this was, there was no way he was _supposed_ to be in bed now, unless it was the weekend. And if he remembered correctly, they had arrived at Hogwarts only the day before — so it seemed highly improbable that it should be the weekend already.

"Should we wake him up?"

"'Course, we're not going to let him sleep through the first day of class…"

"Yeah, I guess McGonagall won't be happy…"

"Nah, I wasn't thinking of McGonagall. I hate thinking that he's going to skip lessons while I'll have to endure all of them."

"Sirius — I really think you shouldlet him sleep. He's seriously ill. Staying in bed is not like him, he's more likely to bounce about and run down the staircase at five in the morning."

How unfair, thought James, vaguely indignant. He needed little sleep, granted; and he did havethis tendency to run — no, _walk quickly _— when he was excited about something. But at five in the morning? Ridiculous. He was still human, thank you very much.

"C'mon, Sirius, Remus, I'm hungry. If you don't hurry up, we'll have no time at all for breakfast."

"Good point… Shall we check on him during the lunch break?"

"Yeah, let's do that. Come on Sirius, Peter's right, we need to hurry…"

"Okay, okay…"

In a shuffling of feet and rustling of clothes, they edged away from his bed, and soon the door whined on its hinges as they closed it behind them.

James managed to open his other eye without adding to his growing headache. He slowly turned over to lie on his back, his cheek stiff and hot from being pressed for so long into the pillow, and relished in the wonderful quietness of the dormitory. The prospect of escaping lessons would have delighted him if it wasn't for the feeling that everything inside his body was misplaced. His stomach seemed to have gone up into his throat, which felt somewhat obstructed, and if he was to trust the taste of bile that flooded his mouth, his liver had gone into quite an overenthusiastic activity. The persistent pain in his belly made him think that all his other organs were knotted together and fighting a duel to death. The mere idea of sitting up was ludicrous.

The seconds ticked on James' wristwatch, resting on his bedside table with his glasses, somewhere on the other side of the curtains. The dark red canopy was not all that interesting to stare at, especially when one was cursed with a short-sightedness as dreadful as James', and he was becoming distinctly sick of it. However, at the slightest attempt at moving into an upright position, his stomach expressed the desire to spill from his throat into his mouth then all over the sheets, and as he was rather keen on keeping all his organs safely inside his body, James gave up.

Lying in the semi-darkness of the thick canopy, James caught himself listening to the silence of the castle; a silence, he found, which was in fact composed of multiple, barely audible noises that he would never have heard, had not he been listening. There was a scratching sound in the skirting board, the windowpanes were slightly rattling under the assault of the wind which moaned around Gryffindor tower, a few ambers in the stove sometimes gave a half-hearted crackling sound, and someone was crying in the distant common room.

James focused on the crying; whoever they were, they seem to be the only one left in the common room, which wasn't surprising since the first class had most probably begun. Boy or girl? Girl, he decided in a surge of male pride. What age? Not very old… Otherwise they wouldn't be crying in the first place, would they?

The crying seemed to edge closer, as if the unknown student was approaching the boys' dormitory. James was disappointed; it was a boy, then, if they were coming this way. Probably a little first-year blubbering after his parents. The wooden steps cracked under light feet as the crying boy made his way upstairs. James, whose dormitory was the first on the way when walking up the stairs, expected to hear him bypass his door before climbing further up. He was therefore completely taken by surprise when he heard the door open with another grating sound, and the sobbing become instantly louder as the unknown boy stepped inside the room.

A pair of feet shuffled along the squealing floorboards, moving towards Remus' bed on James' right. Then there was the muffled rustle of sheets as the boy sat on the edge of the bed, then, once settled, he stopped his quiet sobbing and started wailing openly in evident and noisy despair.

James was at first taken aback, and quite irritated than anyone would think that his dormitory was a place for anybody to come in and cry to their heart's content; but as whoever was seated upon Remus' bed started hiccoughing and choking on his own tears, he started to feel a little uneasy, as if he was eavesdropping on something private. The boy had probably chosen the first dormitory he had come across to, thinking that it would be empty — and it probably looked empty at first glance. Why he hadn't gone to his own dormitory puzzled James, but he had more pressing matters to think of.

What should he do? Stay put until the boy was done crying? He seemed to be able to go on for hours… Show himself and ask if he could help? The problem was, James really, really wasn't gifted to handle crying people. On the other hand, he didn't have much of a choice.

Sighing, James raised an arm — with some effort; his arm seemed to be quite reluctant to move at all, for which James couldn't blame it — and pulled apart his curtains, squinting in order to distinguish a human shape in the bundle of black robes shaking with sobs on Remus' bed.

"Hello?" he croaked, his tongue unpleasantly heavy and dry making the word barely intelligible. "Er, you okay?"

His broken voice had been barely loud enough for him to hear it over the convulsed sobbing, but as it feebly sounded, the person huddled up on Remus' bed started and sat bolt upright, facing James. During a single, interminable second they stared into each other's face — James' poor eyesight merely enabling him to realise his mistake as he looked into a small girl's pale face — before the crying girl let out a horrified, high-pitched scream and jumped off the bed. James didn't have the time to call out after her as she ran to the door and bolted from the room, a long mane of mud-coloured hair flying after her.

"What the —_"_

James heaved himself up on one elbow, grabbing his glasses with his other hand and planting them on his nose. However, the girl's footsteps were already fading away, and running after her in the state he was in was not an option. He frowned; he had not been able to distinguish the girl's features, yet the greenish colour of her hair reminded him of something.

"Oh, right," he whispered aloud, his eyes suddenly widening in remembrance. "_Evans."_

He went into a laughing fit as he recalled Lily Evans' botched up dyeing, in the Hogwarts Express; strangely enough, he had not thought of it once, and had even forgotten to tell the story to Sirius, Peter and Remus. Pity, it was damn funny.

Evans was no friend of his — nor did she have many friends of her own. She had watched their persistence at disrupting lessons with a rather critical eye the previous year, and had even, on one occasion, embarrassed James by yelling at him in the common room; worse, she was annoyingly gifted in Charms and Potions, two subjects in which she effortlessly outclassed both James and Sirius. Oh no, he had no pity in store for Evans. Who cared about a silly girl's hair, anyway.

Why was she crying? He idly wondered, swinging back and forth one leg that hung over the edge of the mattress. Because of her hair? Could it be the reason why she had tried to hide in the boys' dormitory instead of going to class? He would have thought she would rather skip meals than miss a single lesson…

"So Evans is hiding her ugly face," he said aloud with shameless satisfaction. "She doesn't even want to show herself in the Great Hall…"

His voice trailed away and his smirk faded as he was reminded, with painful accuracy, of another person who hadn't dared confront the other students in the Great Hall, the previous day. Evans' predicament was nothing compared to Sirius', he reasoned. The comparison was ridiculous, indecent, even. Yet James couldn't get rid of that lingering sensation of malaise — and his current sick state was not helping matters. The result was ultimately the same, they were both attempting to avoid being mocked and jeered at. Now he thought of it, Sirius had probably dragged along this morning in order to postpone breakfast, as much as out of concern for James.

Evans' desperate sobs seemed to echo in his ears, as if she was still there, curled up on Remus' bed and shaking and hiccoughing. James felt a new stab of uneasiness. If maybe he had told her, from the start, that her hair was green…

Groaning, James smacked himself across the face with his own pillow. Comparing Evans to Sirius. Feeling guilty for a trick he had played on a girl. He had to be very, very ill.

Making up his mind, James threw the sheets off his body and valiantly attempted to get up. His stomach lurched unpleasantly, causing him to clasp a hand on his mouth, and he swayed a little on the spot as the dormitory suddenly seemed to spring to life under his feet, pitching and tossing like a wild boat. James clutched his bedpost, holding on for dear life as he waited for the spinning to subside.

"Never, ever," he groaned as he wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve, "eat éclairs. Never again."

He eventually found his balance and approximately navigated through the dormitory, grabbing the furniture on his way so as to steady himself, and managed to reach the door after a painful and valiant struggle. Walking down the stairs was akin to throwing oneself head-first into a dangerous adventure, but he made it to the common room without falling.

He hesitated, for a few, very long seconds, leaning against the common room wall in his pyjamas and his stomach turned upside-down. Then he took a deep, soothing breath, and decidedly walked towards the girls' staircase. He gripped the banister and started climbing the wooden steps.

A horn-like sound, horribly reminiscent of the Shrieking Mirror in the Piano Room back home, immediately deafened him. Before he had the time to do more than clasp his hands on either side of his throbbing head, the staircase suddenly gave way beneath his feet and he felt himself falling backward.

He landed painfully on his back at the bottom of the staircase, the wind knocked out of him. His vision clouded as his eyes watered in pain and he had to fight down the urge to vomit.

"Well," he mumbled groggily, still lying on the floor. "That settles the matter. I'm off to the Hospital Wing."

He shut his eyes again, willing his stomach to stop waltzing inside of him.

"As soon as I can get up," he added with a grimace.

* * *

"I'm not that hungry…" 

"Sirius, you can't skip lunch."

"I can't skip lunch, I can't skip classes," Sirius said irritably. "Is there something I can skip?"

"Your bad-tempered moments?" Remus suggested.

Sirius made a brusque move and Remus visibly tensed, although he steadily stared right into Sirius' eyes. Peter shifted uneasily, looking from one to the other as if following a tennis match. However, Sirius controlled his rising temper and forced himself to open the hands he had reflexively closed into fists.

"I'm going to check on James," he said coldly. Without another word he spun around and left Remus and Peter standing at the door of the Great Hall.

He climbed the marble staircase two steps at a time, going against the flow of students walking down to lunch, but not really seeing them — to the point where he accidentally bumped into several people. He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't hear at first the clear, quite shrill voice calling his name.

"Sirius! _Sirius!"_

He eventually wheeled around and was surprised to see a seemingly healthy James, dressed in his school uniform, hurrying to join him in the corridor packed with students.

"Where're you going?" James asked. "I wanted to join you for lunch…"

"I was just going to check on you, actually. So, how're you feeling?"

"Much better," said James. "I went to see Pomfrey… She put me on a diet though," he added with a grimace. "So, how about lunch?"

Sirius grinned. "What about your diet?" he teased.

"Oh, drop it, will you?" said James, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let's go."

He took a couple of steps towards the staircase. Sirius didn't move.

"Sirius?" James called, looking back at him. He didn't seem surprised in the least, as if he had been expecting such a reaction from Sirius; however there was something like weariness, or impatience, in the way he looked at him. Sirius felt himself blush. Annoyance and shame were mingling inside of him: shame of his cowardice as well as annoyance at James, who seemed to think he would be able to overcome his fears overnight. It was easy for _him,_ the spoiled, adored child…

"Sirius," said James very seriously. "Let's get down in the Great Hall."

Sirius pressed his lips together in a thin line and averted his gaze. James heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Oh for God's sake," he muttered. Then to Sirius' great surprise he wheeled about and walked up to him. Seizing his sleeve without slowing down, James dragged a completely nonplussed Sirius in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

"Where are we—"

"The dormitory," James replied dryly over his shoulder. "I want to show you something."

"All right, all right, I can walk on my own, thank you," Sirius grunted, shaking his arm out of James' grip. His curiosity was however stronger than his growing impatience at James' odd behaviour, and he followed him.

James led him to their common room, then up the staircase and into their dormitory. Once there, he pulled his heavy trunk from under his bed and started rummaging inside, not even sparing a glance at Sirius, who stood next to him.

"The Invisibility Cloak?" Sirius suddenly asked, hope bubbling in his stomach. "That's it? You want to lend me your—"

"Yeah, keep dreaming," James snapped, with such unexpected violence that Sirius flinched.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked in a mixture of puzzlement and anger.

"What's wrong with _me?"_ James incredulously repeated, straightening up to his full height — which wasn't much — to glare at Sirius. "_I'_m not the one who doesn't dare face the others in the Great Hall!"

Sirius' face grew very hot as blood flooded his head. "You're calling me a coward?" he snarled.

"What are _you_ calling yourself?" James scoffed, bending over his trunk again. "A hero?"

"After all I told you yesterday… I thought you — I thought — oh, I wish you could be out of your mummy's skirts for one single summer," Sirius said in a voice he tried to keep even. He was now shaking with rage. "I wish you could spend a couple of months in _my_ house, Mr I-have-everything-I-bloody-want!"

James stopped going through the mess he had created in his trunk, but remained crouching in front of it, his head lowered.

"So what now?" he said quietly, without looking up. "You're going to steal food from the kitchen and never show up in the Great Hall again?"

Sirius, sadly, had nothing to reply to that. He looked away from James, raising a hand to absentmindedly scratch the back of his neck as he let his eyes trail around the empty dormitory. For the first time since he had met James he felt strangely, painfully abandoned.

"There."

Sirius turned around again, and his worries instantly flew right out of his head: in James' hands was the most beautiful broomstick he had ever seen. James' former broomstick had been fairly new, if he recalled correctly, but it was nothing compared to the shining marvel he now held.

"C'mon," James enjoined him, pulling him out of his contemplation. He walked up to the narrow window that pierced the thick stone wall next to his bed, broomstick in hand, and opened it.

"Sirius!" he called again, looking back at his best friend with raised eyebrows. Sirius shook himself and hastily joined him without asking questions.

"Behind me," James shortly told him as he climbed on the windowsill and mounted his broomstick.

"Where're we going?" Sirius asked, hauling himself up on the windowsill beside James.

"The girls' dormitory."

Sirius' mouth fell slightly open.

"There, hum, there is a staircase, you know," he slowly pointed out. He was starting to wonder what kind of potions Madam Pomfrey had been feeding James.

"Yeah?" answered the latter. "Well, try walking up the staircase, and when you get inside the dorm you can send me an owl."

Although James' reply only served to puzzle him further, there was a certain finality in his best friend's voice that dissuaded Sirius from interrogating him again. He awkwardly mounted the broomstick behind James and circled his waist with his arms.

"Ready?"

"Yes please," Sirius replied immediately. They were both crouching on a narrow windowsill, a broomstick squeezed between their knees, and he was getting distinctly uncomfortable.

"Okay," James said. "Hold on." And pushing firmly on his legs, he threw them both out of the window.

They soared into the rain that, once more, monotonously pattered on the drenched stonewalls of Hogwarts castle. Thankfully the wind had decreased and James seemed to steer the broomstick effortlessly, despite Sirius' added weight. They flew alongside the circular wall of the tower, both boys squinting in order to discern recognisable shapes through the closed windows.

"There," James suddenly said, pointing at a window. Sirius looked, and thought he could see something green behind the glass pane streaming with water. James, however, flew past this window and stopped the broomstick level with the one next to it, which opened on the same room; keeping a firm hold on the handle of his broom with his left hand, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the catch.

"_Alohomora!"_

The window opened slightly, pushed inwards by the slight wind, and Sirius leant sideways to push it completely open. James very quietly managed to drive the broomstick inside the dormitory, and they were both able to scramble down from it.

Then several things happened in a very quick succession: Sirius heard the rustling of sheets, someone close by sniffed loudly, then squealed, before shouting, "_Petrificus—"_

Sirius' wand was suddenly in his hand and he was yelling, _"Expelliarmus!"_

He watched, as if in slow motion, as the wand was snapped out of the strange girl's hand and flew straight at his face — he made to dive out of the way but he was too slow — then James' hand appeared out of nowhere and caught the wand.

"What do you want?" wailed the girl Sirius had just Disarmed. She looked familiar, but her hair was of a hideous greenish colour that he was sure he had never seen before. She threw a quick glance at the door, as if hoping that she would be able to dash to it — but then James raised his own wand and shouted, _"Colloportus!"_

The girl let out a small, startled kind of yelp as the lock clicked loudly, locking her inside.

"Hey, Evans," James then said in a neutral tone.

Sirius blinked.

"_Evans?" _he repeated in disbelief. The girl flushed scarlet under his stare and tears welled up in her eyes.

"So that's why you came?" she asked in a trembling voice, looking at James. "To have a good laugh at me? You even brought your little friend to the show — I suppose you're the one who tried to come up here this morning, as well?"

Her voice was getting steadier as she talked, and now her eyes flashed in anger as she stared at James with the expression one might wear when looking at some particularly disgusting kind of slug.

"Well go on then," she went on, her voice raising. "Laugh! Laugh at poor stupid Evans, who dyed her hair _green _then showed up in front of everyone because _you_ had told her it was all right! Why aren't you laughing, Potter, isn't your little prank _hilarious?"_

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Sirius asked loudly, but James silenced him with an imperious gesture of his hand.

"I'll explain later," he briefly said. "Look, Evans, I didn't come here to laugh at you—"

"Oh yeah?" she half-screamed, now red with anger. "Then what are you doing in _my_ dormitory?"

"What were you doing in mine?" James retorted, speaking over her.

"Wait," Sirius said again, feeling lost, "she was in our—?"

"That was a mistake," Evans said very quickly.

"A mistake?" James repeated. "You manage to mistake a boys' dormitory for yours, then you scream and run when one of them ask you why you're crying?"

"I wasn't crying," she said feebly, blushing again.

"Yeah, and my name's Severus Snape," James snapped with the same uncharacteristic brutality he had used with Sirius earlier. "You know what I think, Evans? I think you're scared of facing the others, so you're hiding."

Evans opened her mouth, closed it, then lowered her head, her lips twisted in a grimace as if she was trying very hard not to burst into tears.

"You're scared, in fact," James pitilessly went on. "Because a bunch of idiots don't like your hairdo, you're scared to show your face."

"What," she sniffed loudly — strange how she still managed to sound contemptuous and incredulous while sniffing. "You're not going to tell me you _like it?_ It's horrible."

For emphasis, she seized a short strand of hair and held it up for them to see. Sirius could only agree with her; if he hadn't been wondering what on earth was going on, he would have burst out laughing at the girl's ridiculous aspect.

"And you're going to skip lessons and meals for a bad dyeing?" James continued, waving away her interruption. "You're going to starve to death — worst, _fail your exams — _for fear of being laughed at?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes, suspicion worming its way into his mind. "Wait," he said for a third time. "I know what you're after, James."

"Do you?" said James distractedly. "So Evans, am I right?"

The girl shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her eyes resolutely cast downwards.

"I can't… show up after what happened yesterday_,"_ she mumbled. "All… You know, all the laughing and pointing and… and…"

She swallowed, then let out a shaky breath. Big tears were now rolling on her cheeks.

"The other girls… They didn't tell me a thing…" she softly cried. "They said it… it was fine…"

"Well at least I'm not the only one responsible," muttered James, so low Sirius barely caught his words. "You'll have to go down eventually, Evans," he said in a louder voice.

"Wh-what d-does it matter to y-you?" she sobbed. "It's m-my business!"

"Sirius won't go downstairs either," said James abruptly.

Sirius was so taken aback by James' unexpected revelation that he remained speechless, his mind blank of thoughts and his voice gone; he could only stare at his best friend in dumb stupefaction.

"Wh-what?" Evans said, turning her attention to Sirius for the first time since he had Disarmed her. "Why wouldn't he—"

"Problems," James explained, "with his family. They're a Slytherin lot—"

"Hey!" Sirius blurted out as he finally found his voice. "What do you think you're playing at, exactly?"

James turned to him, his features set in an expression of mild surprise as if what Sirius had just said did not make any sense — as if Sirius was supposed to find completely normal that he should spill out his secrets to a girl which they not only didn't know that much, but also which he, Sirius, heartily disliked.

"What're you doing?" he hissed, anger welling up once more inside of him. "Did I ask you to tell the whole school?"

"Evans won't tell," James said evenly. "Will you, Evans?" he added, turning to her. "We can trust you, right? No one is supposed to know."

"What the hell!" Sirius exclaimed, his voice rising. "You remember who _she_ is, right? Evans the teachers' pet? Evans the know-it-all?"

"Shut it, Black," Evans snarled, suddenly looking much fiercer despite her ridiculous hair and her tear-stained face. "I'm no sneak!"

"If she agrees to go downstairs," James half-shouted in an attempt to speak over them both, "will you?"

A shocked silence met his words. Sirius, who had been about to shoot at Evans a scathing reply, found himself goggling at James with his mouth open instead. So that was what it was all about? James was actually comparing his situation to _Evans'? _

"What — you — that's completely beside the point!" he finally stammered, half in indignation and half in shock. "She — she—"

"She showed up in front of the whole school with green hair," James coolly completed. "The _whole school._ Not only the Slytherins."

"Drop it, Potter," Evans said firmly. "I'm not going downstairs."

"Yes you are," James impatiently said, turning to her. "Because you'll be even more laughed at if you fail all your classes, Evans. And _what_ will McGonagall _say?_" he added in mock horror.

Silence fell again, and stretched on for several long, interminable seconds. Evans was looking from James to Sirius with her eyes narrowed; Sirius could almost hear the wheels whirring in her head. "You're good at Transfiguration, Potter, aren't you?" she suddenly said sharply.

James apparently wasn't expecting this. "Well yeah, I am," he replied warily. "You should know, since we both outclass you—"

"Transfigure my hair."

James blinked. Sirius raised his eyebrows at her, then a smile slowly came to curl his lips as he understood what Evans was after. Oh, she wasn't going to do James any favour if she didn't get something in exchange. He was impressed, actually.

"Transfigure your hair?" James repeated in a weak voice.

"Exactly," Evans confirmed. "I'd like it to be black and curly."

"Black and — Are you kidding me, Evans?" James blurted out, indignation causing his voice to climb two octaves. "There isn't _hairdresser_ written across my forehead!"

"Then I'm not going downstairs," Evans concluded with infuriating calmness. Sirius went to lean against a four-poster, pinching his lips between two fingers to hide his broad grin.

"You're not going to hide here all year," James protested.

"Try me."

"Mate, to be honest, it's your fault her hair's like that now," Sirius interjected, his voice shaking with laughter. "Time to repair the damage."

"Oh, shut your face," James snapped in annoyance. "Her girlfriends told her it was fine as well, so it's not only _my_ fault! Besides, the spell to change colours is third-year level, we're not supposed to know it yet—"

"But you do know it, don't you?" Sirius smoothly noted.

James looked from Sirius to Evans and back again, seemingly struck speechless by his best friend's betrayal, and his lips soundlessly moving gave him the expression of a goldfish out of its aquarium. Evans giggled, causing James to flush with anger.

"Fine!" he roared. "Fine! I'll do it! But if a word of this gets out—"

"Don't talk so much, Potter, the Charms lesson is starting in ten minutes," Evans said with a satisfied smirk.

James sent her way a glare that would have disintegrated a granite column, but he picked his wand nonetheless and walked up to her. Evans looked a little wary as he pointed his wand at her head and started muttering under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration; and for a second, a flicker of fear crossed her face as she noticed no change in her hair colour. A droplet of sweat run down James' temple.

Sirius drew closer to the pair of them, watching in reluctant admiration as James concentrated on the spell with all his might. On the third try, the green of Evans' hair slowly turned darker; Sirius couldn't help but notice that James' face was greying with tiredness, and he experienced a twinge of worry — was the spell that difficult to pull off for him?

"There!" James croaked at last, with a valiant effort to sound cross. "Your bloody hair is black!"

"And curly?" Evans said suspiciously.

"Oh for God's sake—" James abruptly jabbed his wand at her, causing her hair to twirl in tight curls.

Evans ran a hand through her hair, pulling on a lock to try and check if the colour was good — which caused her to go slightly cross-eyed. The sight seemed to delight her, for she then had a winning smile and held out her hand to James.

"I'm not shaking your hand," said the latter defensively. He had staggered backwards to sit on another bed that stood nearby.

Evans rolled her eyes. "I was asking for my wand, you idiot."

James nodded and, drawing Evans' wand from his belt, tossed it at her without a word. She caught it and dashed at once in the small bathroom adjacent to the dormitory, locking the door behind her.

"You feeling all right?" Sirius asked, frowning.

James nodded again, although he was abnormally pale. "The potion she used is a tough one," he explained in a low voice. "It didn't want me to change the colour. I had to use the Transfiguration spell three times… It's draining."

"How come you know about the spell anyway?" Sirius asked, crossing the room to the bed where James sat. "I mean… I thought you had heard about it, but you looked as if you had already practiced it…" He wisely refrained from adding that he had hoped the spell would go wrong, possibly burning Evans' hair or giving it an interesting colour.

"I practiced it at home, along with several others," James said. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the bedpost, rubbing his temple with his left hand. "I'm already mastering the first ten chapters of Transfiguration, and the first five of Charms."

"You were able to _practice them?_" Sirius repeated incredulously. "But we… we're not allowed to…"

"Use magic at home? I know. But Dad explained to me, once, that the Ministry hadn't worked out a way to detect underage magic yet. They detect _magic,_ but when it's coming from a wizarding house they have no way to know who used it. Parents are supposed to forbid their kids to use magic, there are even wards in my room to prevent me from using it before I turn seventeen… but, well… Mum never knew I practiced at night in the cellar."

"But why would you want to be ahead of everyone in Transfiguration and Charms?"

"That way I won't be bothered with homework, and I can concentrate on… You know, solving Remus' problem," James replied, shooting a furtive look at the bathroom door behind which Evans had disappeared.

Excitement swelled in Sirius' chest at James' words. Last summer, he had found a few interesting books on the subject of Animagi in his father's library; he had spent entire nights copying pages and pages of complicated instructions, not daring steal his father's books for fear their intentions would be discovered. Those had been exciting, suspense-filled nights, and he couldn't wait to show James the result of his hard work.

"On this subject," he started decidedly, but the sound of the door being unlocked silenced him immediately.

Evans stepped out of the bathroom, her curly black hair brushed back and a wide smile on her pale, freckled face.

"How do I look?" she asked proudly.

"Like a sheep," James answered at once — and Sirius thought the comparison was remarkably accurate. "C'mon, the pair of you, let's get out of here or we'll be late in Charms."

"All right," they both said at the same time. Evans seemed to lose a little of her confidence at the prospect of facing the whole school again, but eventually she walked ahead of the pair of them, her jaw set in a defiant expression.

"Oh, wait," said James, extending his arm to prevent Sirius from taking another step. "Not the stairs — Evans, we're going through the window, all right?"

"Okay," she said distractedly. The door closed behind her and they found themselves alone.

They wasted no time in going to pick up the broomstick that lay abandoned on the floor, next to the still-open window. After a short struggle to go through the narrow opening, they were flying above the Hogwarts castle again, large drops of water splattering on their faces and legs.

"Please tell me I didn't fix that girl's hair in vain," James shouted over the hissing of the wind in their ears. "If she's able to face the others in the Great Hall, you're not going to chicken out, are you?"

Sirius hesitated, the same fear he had experienced the previous day clawing at his insides again. He had avoided breakfast this morning, choosing to head directly for the greenhouses where their first Herbology lesson had taken place; Peter, bless him, had brought him half a dozen toasts wrapped in a serviette. Now that he had skipped lunch as well, the next time he would have to face the Slytherins would be at dinner. He wasn't sure he was able to do that.

"You let yourself get beaten by a _girl?"_ James insisted, his words literally dripping with disappointment. "I can't believe you. You're more of a coward than Evans is."

Sirius gritted his teeth and gave James' waist a brutal squeeze, his fists digging painfully into his best friend's diaphragm in retaliation. James reacted at once by steering the broom into a thirty-feet dive.

"All right, all right!" Sirius shouted, half in panic and half in anger. "I got it! I'll have dinner in the Great Hall with everyone else!"

James' merry laughter was lost in a thunder roll that echoed on the distant mountains. It was clearly time to go back within the shelter of the castle.

* * *

The storm raged for nearly two weeks, the rain pounding relentlessly on the windows of the castle and sometimes pooling here and there on the topmost floors, where the roof leaked. It wasn't until the weekend of the second week that the rain ceased at last, and on Saturday morning the sun rose in a periwinkle-blue sky, its reflect gleaming in the lake and in the many ponds that had been created all over the drenched grounds. It was the freshest, most peaceful morning one could possibly imagine. 

"Tryouts today!"

A pillow flew straight out of Sirius' closed curtains and missed James by inches.

"Nice try!" James happily commented, not bothering to lower his voice despite Sirius' most explicit warning. "The sun's shining, come one, get up! The Quidditch tryouts are beginning in an hour!"

"Then do us all a favour and GO!" Sirius shouted, his voice muffled as he most probably spoke from under the sheets.

Remus groaned as he straightened up, shielding his eyes with one hand. "Do we have to go through this every morning of every weekend day?" he sleepily asked.

"Well if you got up on your own I wouldn't have to wake you up," pointed out James, who was already fully dressed.

"Someone kill him!" Anthony Bollurish roared from behind his curtains.

"Shut up, Bollurish, no one's asked you for an opinion!" Sirius roared back, pulling his own curtains apart with such violence that they were half torn off their rods. "You!" he added, pointing an accusatory finger at James. "How many times did I tell you _not_ to wake me up on Saturdays and Sundays? _How many times?"_

"Lost count," James lightly answered. "Come on, Peter, you're the only one who hasn't got up."

A kind of moan answered him, and Peter's tousled head poked out of the curtains, remarkably similar to some grotesque hunting trophy fixed on a dark red wall. "Whassgoingon?" he mumbled.

"Quidditch tryouts!" James trumpeted. "Quick, we're going to be late!"

It was a mark of their close friendship that Sirius, Remus and Peter all got up and started to get dressed, although they did so with many moans, grumbles and acid remarks; then, once Sirius had relieved his frustration by throwing a Leg-Locker at Bollurish, who had been imprudent enough to complain again about his rude awakening, they all trudged along behind a literally bouncing James.

"What position are you applying for, again?" Peter asked with a huge yawn.

"Chaser. They need two Chasers and a Seeker."

"You seem pretty confident," Remus cautiously noted. "You're sure they'll take you?"

"Why wouldn't they?" James asked with genuine surprise. "I have as much chance as anybody else!"

"Maybe because you're smaller and skinnier than most first-years," Sirius bluntly said. "And because you wear glasses. Not really the athletic type, are you?"

James shrugged, undisturbed by Sirius' bad temper. "We'll see…"

After a quick breakfast, they went outdoors in the fresh, rain-washed morning air, and headed towards the Quidditch pitch. James' sensation of constant excitement was now tinged with nervousness; this was absurd, he had been flying ever since he had found himself able to sit on a broomstick. Yet Sirius' words, although he knew they had mostly been inspired by his foul mood, kept ringing into his ears. What if they didn't want to take him, just because he didn't _look_ like a Quidditch player?

Nonsense. He would show them. He was as much at ease on a broomstick as he was when walking on the ground — there was no need to be scared.

No need at all…

James came to an abrupt halt, causing Remus to bump into him.

"They're all already there," he noted in a toneless voice.

He raised an arm and pointed at a group of students gathered on the pitch next to a fifty-feet-high hoop, all of them carrying broomsticks — all of them considerably taller than James was.

"Come on," said Sirius after eyeing the other applicants for a few silent seconds. "You're going to beat them all. I've seen how you fly, it's like you were born on a broom."

Remus made an odd noise behind James, something that suspiciously sounded like a disbelieving snort — then immediately let out a yelp of surprise and pain. James strongly suspected he had been elbowed in the ribs; strangely enough, that didn't make him feel any better.

"Okay, fine," he said in the same blank voice, eyes still glued to the group of students. "Well, thanks for the company, I'll, I'll just go on alone now…"

Walking up to the group of applicants seemed to take an excruciatingly long time; yet, when he finally halted next to them, he wished it had lasted longer. He gripped his broom tighter in his hands and tried to think like a Quidditch player. He was shorter, therefore lighter than most of his competitors; he could very well use it as an advantage. The day was fine, not too much sun and barely any wind. He had an excellent broom. He would be hard to catch.

"Morning everyone!" called a clear voice, catching James' attention. The new captain of the team, Katie Collins, a prefect in her sixth year, was standing before them in her blood-red Quidditch robes. Tall and solidly built, her chin authoritatively projected forwards and her fist resting on her hip, she made quite an impression on James.

He knew her to be a fair prefect with a good sense of humour; yet he distinctly felt that she was not one to be crossed.

"So, as you know, they are eleven of you, and we have only three positions to fill," Collins briskly said. "I will try out everyone and be completely impartial, but some of you will be disappointed. Let it be clear: I don't care if your feelings are hurt. If you're not chosen, you stay quiet or you go whine somewhere else. Got it?"

A vague mumble of assent answered her words.

"All right," she resumed, looking both pleased with herself and a little relieved. "Chasers, you stay here. Seekers, you go over there, on my left."

Three students, two boys and a girl who all looked to be in their fourth or fifth year, detached themselves from the group and gathered on Collins' left.

"Fine, we're going to try out Chasers first," Collins announced. "If one of you—"

"Hey, kid, the Seekers are over _there_," a Beater, who hovered in midair on his broom right behind Collins, suddenly called out. He was staring at James.

"I know," James tensely replied. "I'm a Chaser."

"With that build? No way," smirked another applicant, whose face looked oddly misshaped due to the fact that one of his eye was half-closed. "You're fit for either the Seeker position or the nursery school."

A girl he was holding by the waist giggled at his words, and hot blood instantly rushed to James' face. He dropped his eyes, shared between embarrassment and anger, and focused on his hands that gripped the handle of his broomstick so hard that the knuckles were already turning white. _We'll see. Just wait. We'll see._

"I don't remember asking you for an opinion, Gudgeon," Collins said rather dryly, earning herself a glare from the one-eyed boy's girlfriend. She ignored her, returning her attention to the applicants. "As I was saying, we're trying out Chasers first… Who wants to start?"

James took several steps back, determined to be tried out last. Most of the taller students seemed to think he was already backing out; he didn't know what was worse, those who leered at him or those who sent his way an encouraging, indulgent sort of smile. He tore his eyes from them all, with some effort, and concentrated on the game.

The Chaser applicants were of different standards: there was a dreadful one, who gave up after missing his fifth pass; most of the others were reasonably good, although James could tell Collins wasn't impressed, and the remaining two — Gudgeon and a girl called Millie Carrol — were obviously the best of the lot.

"Well, for once the choice isn't difficult," said the Beater who had addressed James earlier, peering over Collins' shoulder at the list she was studying. "The two best were Gudgeon and Carrol."

"There's still Potter to try out," Collins replied without looking up from her list. James straightened up and stepped forward, feeling a surge of gratitude for the Quidditch captain. He was now completely calm; he knew he would easily surpass both Gudgeon and Carrol. He _couldn't wait,_ as a matter of fact.

"In the air, Potter," Collins laconically ordered.

James swung his right leg over his broom and kicked the ground, hard — and a smile slowly blossomed on his face as he soared upwards. He was going to show them.

James easily caught the Quaffle and sped towards the goals, Bennett, the other Chaser, flying close behind him. He swerved to avoid a Bludger sent his way by Collins, passed to Bennett as the other Beater tried to block him, then edged his way around two players and another Bludger to get closer to the goals. He was grinning from ear to ear. This was so easy, so _natural._

Bennett reversed-passed to him, and although James hadn't been expecting it he caught the Quaffle with the very tips of his fingers and immediately tucked it safely under his arm, gripping very hard the handle of his broom with his other hand; the effect was immediate: his broom shot towards the goals like a javelin, forcing the other Beater to hurry out of his way. Two seconds later he had scored.

"Nice one!" Bennett roared from somewhere below him. James beamed and looped the loop in answer.

It was magical. Freed from gravity, James felt there was nothing he couldn't do, nowhere he couldn't go. For fifteen minutes he flew, light and graceful, intercepting the Quaffle effortlessly and scoring with baffling easiness. He was too quick for the Keeper, who after the third goal couldn't help swearing at the top of his lungs every time the Quaffle soared through one of his hoops. He was too small and too swift for the Beaters: by the time they had hit the Bludger in his direction, he was already gone.

This was _perfect._

A wheezing sound warned him just in time, and he abruptly swerved to avoid the Bludger that was hurling itself at his back; at the same time however, he caught from the corner of his eye a red blur that flew straight towards him with alarming speed. His feeling of elation stifled by the burst of adrenaline, he toppled over, knowing he was only buying himself a couple of seconds, and rested the Quaffle against his stomach where he held it in place with both elbows. He then shut his eyes tightly and blindly sped forward.

The shock seemed to reverberate in every bone of his body, as he and the unknown player violently collided. His glasses were snatched from his face and fell, his broomstick thrown off-course by the impact; James went into an uncontrollable spin, the blue of the sky and the green of the lawn succeeding each other in front of his eyes with dazzling speed. He was seconds away from crashing, he knew; he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes again to block out the vertiginous succession of colourful blurs, and squeezed his broom between his knees and hands as hard as he could.

Finally he felt the broom vibrate slightly as he forced it back under his control. His eyes shot open again and he brutally straightened up the broomstick, stopping in midair at a mere ten feet from the ground. He thought he could hear the braking spells wail under the pressure and winced at the treatment he inflicted upon his beloved broom.

But all was well. He hadn't crashed.

And the Quaffle was still safely stuck against his stomach.

"You okay?" called Collins' voice from somewhere on his right. He distinguished her blurred outline speeding towards him.

"I'm fine," he called back. "I still have the Quaffle. But… That was a foul, wasn't it?"

A stunned silence met his words; colour was now starting to creep up his neck and cheeks again as he suddenly wondered if he had just made a fool of himself. What if there was another way he could have gotten away? What if they had been expecting him to pass the Quaffle, instead of curling around it like an overprotective hen?

"Who the hell _is_ this guy?" the other Beater asked in amazement, breaking the silence.

Collins seemed to be shaken out of her stupor. "Well I think that'll be all, Potter," she said at last. "You can give the Quaffle back… Thank you."

James held out the red ball, squinting in order to try and make out the details of her face. He couldn't tell if she was angry, amused, mocking or simply puzzled. She took the Quaffle without uttering a word then turned her back on him.

"_Accio glasses!"_ said Bennett's voice. Contrary to his team mates, he sounded positively gleeful. He even clapped James on the back when he pushed in his hand the glasses he had Summoned and repaired.

"That was one hell of a spin, kid," he said cheerily. "I thought we would have to pick you up with a spoon."

"Thanks for that," James mumbled as he took the glasses and put them on. He preferred not to comment on what he doubted was a compliment, and hastily directed his broom to land on the pitch.

He straightened up to see Sirius, Remus and Peter hurrying towards him from the stands where they had watched the whole tryout. Sirius was beaming at him, Remus and Peter looked nothing short of awed.

"See? You dominated the whole tryout!" Sirius said triumphantly. "You were the best, by far."

"I thought you were going to kill yourself," Remus said, staring at James with undisguised admiration. "When you crashed into this other guy…"

"I should've avoided him," James bitterly said.

Sirius shook his head. "There's no way you could have avoided him. Not with a Bludger in your back and the Quaffle in your hands. Trust me, we saw everything from where we sat… Peter was jumping up and down on the bench," he added with a broad grin.

"You were amazing," Peter said in hushed tones, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "Amazing."

James feebly grinned. "Thanks," he said gratefully.

"Oi! Potter!"

James turned to see Collins beckoning him. Most of the other applicants were already gathered around her, although some of them seemed to have left the pitch before the end of James' performance. James was immensely pleased to see that Gudgeon and his girlfriend looked quite sullen.

"See you later," Sirius said in a low voice, as he gave him a slight push between the shoulder blades. James nodded and hastened towards Collins.

"Well," said the latter after James had joined her, "I don't think the results are going to be a big surprise… Gudgeon and Potter, you're in."

James was unable to bite back an exclamation of joy, causing Bennett and the other Beater to laugh; the Keeper still looked a bit vexed but good-naturedly grinned at James, and the corners of Collins' mouth twitched.

"I hope I won't be asked to baby-sit," Gudgeon said loudly. James' smile faded, but before he had the time to reply, Collins asked the whole team to get back in the air for the Seeker tryout.

James turned away from the one-eyed Chaser and mounted his broom yet again, taking off immediately and speeding towards the other end of the pitch in order to avoid finding himself next to Gudgeon. His good mood had already been spoiled, and there was now something uncharacteristically brutal in the way he steered his broom; if Gudgeon wanted a war, he was going to get one.

"Potter," said a voice right behind him. He turned and found himself face to face with Collins.

"A word of advice," she said very seriously. "You're the youngest, the smallest and the newest player here. Keep your head down for a while, okay? Stop acting the star of the team. That's irritating."

James sighed. "Okay," he said gloomily.

"I'm not saying you're a bad player," she hastily added. "You've got a huge talent. But until further notice _Bennett _is the head Chaser, and _I_ am the Captain of this team. Just play your part, you'll climb the hierarchic ladder soon enough."

"Right."

"Great," she smiled at him. "Happy to have you on the team."

"Happy to be on the team," James replied with a reluctant grin of his own. Collins nodded at him and he set off, heading for the right side of the goals — where he belonged as the youngest Chaser.

"All right Potter, Gudgeon," Bennett shouted as James drew closer to the two other Chasers. "Remember — this is Quidditch. Not ballet. Serious business!"

_Aye sir,_ James inwardly answered, unable to suppress the smile that finally spread on his face.

* * *

**A/N:** I am so, so sorry for the delay. I hope some of you who have been following _Symphony_ since the beginning kept that story in a corner despite the scandalously long wait; those, I'd like to thank. And to all, I hope you have enjoyed the chapter. 


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